


One Day We'll Shine

by Manifold



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: HeartGold & SoulSilver | Pokemon HeartGold & SoulSilver Versions
Genre: Gen, Nuzlocke Challenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-05-07 08:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14667447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manifold/pseuds/Manifold
Summary: She can't quell the turmoil inside her without understanding its source—the tyranny of two Pokemon Leagues, her brother's disappearance at the onset of war, or the shell enclosed around her heart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

It was a mistake to come here on an overcast day.

Summer should breathe movement into New Bark Town's eastern cove, but the sun's arc is veiled behind grey.  No wind stirs the trees; no waves reshape the shore. When rain clouds fill the sky, drops rustle through leaves and ripple through the bay, but today, the air is stiff and dry.  Everything's stuck. Only the boy in front of me, and the crackle of the radio, assure me that the world spins.

Ethan watches my brush sweep along the Totodile's shedding skin and he repeats, stroke for stroke, on his Marill.  "Trace longer paths on round Pokemon," I say, guiding his hand.

"Leah, can I join Elm's lab when I'm old enough?"

"If you study hard, like your mom tells you to."  The gator in my lap snaps her jaw and growls; my hand jerks back.  "Beck, stop that."

"She's just happy, purring."

"Oh."

Ethan's hands wobble.  I check mine; he's copying me.  The brush slips from my palm, beading with sweat.

"You don't like Pokemon much, do you?" Ethan asks.  Heat flushes down my neck, but when I glance at the sky there's no sun reaching its apex.  A dismal grey, nothing more.

"Not really."  I snatch the tool off the grass and resume Beck's maintenance.

Whitney's voice drones from the radio.  "And those are the latest Rocket sightings.  Coming up soon, a guest from the Pokemon League brings news from the Kanto southern coast, and why he believes Vermillion City is so difficult to capture."

"Let's listen to something else," I say, fiddling with the knobs.  "You like Buena's Treehouse, right?"

"Why do you help Elm if you don't like Pokemon?"

"Look, that's how jobs work.  You'll understand when you're older," I say.  He won't. Ethan's family is rich. He doesn't grasp why the other kids have Rattatas instead of Marills.  He doesn't grasp why they never shop in Goldenrod, or ski near Mahogany Town.

He doesn't grasp why I offer to babysit him on summer mornings: to slow down the rate I accrue debt, trying to stave off the anger of Anya, my landlady, with income that's never on time and never enough.  She yelled this morning. Two and a half months behind, she warned.

I glance at the sky.  This spot is supposed to be an escape, but it doesn't work on an overcast day.

Only Buena speaks the next few minutes.  I think back to my tone with Ethan, those last few words.  It was too sharp.

I switch to a comb and release Blair and Belle, Beck's Cyndaquil and Chikorita sisters.  A cross-species genepool shared from a Ditto mother. Ethan has permission to handle Belle, because there's no fangs or flames to maim him; her leaf won't sharpen without a command.

The Pokemon playfully wrestle in the dirt after we're done.  I jot down observations about their behavior, while Ethan yawns and stretches out across the grass for a nap.  "My grandparents show me Ditto siblings all the time," he says. "I've never seen ones this nice to each other."

They're different when domesticated.  I've told Elm that these three would be at each other's throats in the wild, but he dismisses the thought.

Ethan dozes off.  For the rest of the morning, the horizon holds my gaze.  I try to peek past it, to picture the land tucked behind the shutter where water meets sky.  The town gossips about this ritual of mine. Someone claims I'm mourning a grave no one else can see; their guess isn't far off.

It's the only part of my day when I can imagine life moving forward.  Rent payments, job stability, survival—those worries fade away. A breeze picks up.  The air whispers to the ground, coaxing it out of slumber, and lifts up petals and blades of grass.  For a moment, the world on the other side feels closer, and I can recall with clarity the warm brush of my brother's hand in the dark.

Then Buena on the radio announces it's noon, the air flattens, and I'm anchored back to the rest of my day.

#

Today's chores: basic care for the Ditto trio project (done), fluorescent microscopy on Donphan trunk cells (next), and analysis on the Gloom saliva data.  I'm in the middle of sample prep when Elm summons me to his office. He's usually scribbling on his chalkboard or flipping through papers when I walk in, but this time he sits at his desk and looks directly at me.

"Hello, Leah, could you close the door behind you?  Thank you." The usual meandering is absent from his voice.  "For the next few days, I'm asking someone else to take care of your projects.  There's an errand I'd like you to run."

"Days?  That long?"

"It's a project funded by the Pokemon League."  Elm frowns; it must have been forced upon him. "I don't have all the details yet, but there's a package at a certain address, and to keep it low-profile, they want a middleman to carry out the delivery.  I don't have the address in writing, so listen closely."

He checks outside his door for eavesdroppers before whispering the instructions to me.  Request a red and a white polkadot apricorn from the first cottage in the woods north of Cherrygrove City, to confirm my identity, then head to a second cottage behind it to pick up the real item.  Between the two houses there is a Butterfree hive: trained, not wild. They won't attack as long as they see the painted apricorn.

"You can borrow my bike if you don't have one," Elm says.  "And take a Pokemon with you, just to be safe. They said there shouldn't be any danger from trainers, but it's the middle of the summer, sometimes the wild Rattata get feisty."

"Why me?" I ask.

"I figured it's a way to get you to take a small vacation without losing pay."  He flashes a wry, proud smile.

"Speaking of which, Professor, I was wondering about my next check."  His lips twist into all the familiar apologies and explanations as I nod through them.  Budget delays on projects because wartime funding is tight. My status as part-time technician on a rigid payscale, despite the workload of a full-fledged researcher.  Bureaucracy paces itself as it pleases while I sink into debt.

"Things would simplify if the League recognized you as research staff," Elm says.  "If you could show a degree-"

"I'm sorry, I can't."  It's an open secret of New Bark Town: I'm a Kanto refugee.  "Thank you, Professor Elm, I understand." I force a smile, bow my head, and exit.

Option 1: take a job that doesn't require proof of secondary education.  Option 2: apply to schools in Johto and face jail or deportation when they uncover I'm from Kanto.  Option 3: keep my head down, be grateful I already have the skills to research Pokemon even if I hate it, and work for someone who doesn't pry.  Hold a job, pay the bills, and survive, for the rest of my life.

#

The grassy hills and plains of Route 29 are safe and uneventful for travelers these days.  Some residents of New Bark Town boast about herds of Donphan and Exeggutor rampaging around, but because of Kanto's proximity, the Pokemon League has caught the area's strongest wild Pokemon in the past two years for use in the war.  Some parents think that means it's safe for their children to venture into the wilderness. Accidents happen. A fledgling Spearow's peck or a territorial Rattata's bite isn't lethal, but at times it has been crippling.

The Chikorita, Belle, comes with me.  She nibbles on berries at the Pokemon Center before we spend the night at Cherrygrove Lodge.  Elisabeth, the manager, serves me dinner in an empty dining room. Her son Joey dusts the tables instead of washing them, from lack of use.  Once a tourist hotspot for its beach resorts and blooming cherry trees, Cherrygrove City's popularity has dwindled lately because of the war.  Younger adults from the city itself are gone, too, supporting their families by enlisting in the Pokemon League.

Outside, an old man slumps against a streetlamp.  He talks about his days as a tour guide while begging for change.  

"Want to buy my shoes?" he asks, holding them up to my face.  "I used to be a famous runner, back in the day. These are special shoes."  

The soles are gone.  His face watches me with desperation through the holes.

In the morning, I bike out of Cherrygrove City and into the forest, along the dirt path protected by League trainers.  They are slacking, as they always are, so there's no one to be seen, and I stay alert for the sound of any wild Pokemon that might attack.

At the first house I knock and say my name.  A man opens the door with a Pokeball in his left hand, ready to release at any time.  Once he's verified I am indeed Leah, he hands me the polkadot apricorn and ushers me away.  

"Leave your bike here," he says.  "Don't scare the Butterfree."

Soon, I come across the swarm, a mass of thrashing wings and purple writhing amidst the tree branches, and I gulp, holding up the fruit.  They monitor me with their red, oval eyes as I walk underneath. I can catch the whiff of the powders breezing from their bodies, sweet and toxic, and hold my breath.

Ten minutes later, I reach the second cabin and knock.  A Machoke takes the apricorn from me and permits me to enter.  Inside, two old men sit at a table with mugs of coffee. One wears a brown suit and hat, the other a lab coat.  The scientist turns to me first, and we hold eye contact in silence for what feels like an eternity.

It's been two years since we last saw each other.

"So this is where you've been all this time, Daisy," Professor Oak says.

"Blue, Red.  Where are they?" I ask.  "Tell me what happened to them."

He doesn't let up his hardened stare as he contemplates my demand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Corrals at Oak's laboratory are carved from rock.  Wooden sheds can't obstruct the brash and proud Ponyta from galloping toward freedom.  Their manes fume, choking the air with smoke as I cage them inside, but confinement is necessary to keep them safe; the weatherman promised thunderstorms throughout the night.

A chorus of whinnies abound when the first raindrops fall.  I shoot the Ponyta, cramped but dry, an exasperated look before heading off.  The downpour forces me to sprint: past the lab, past barnyards, past abandoned lots and wilting gardens, past rows of slumping houses until I find mine.

My younger brother's absence fills our home.  For the past three years, newspaper clippings have crept across tables, countertops, and the floor.  One is framed: a front-page feature titled "The Two Boys from Pallet Town: A Test for Pokemon League Reform."

"Daisy," a voice says.

I don't believe it's him until my head turns right.  A man stands in the corner, veiled beneath a cloak. Lightning flashes through the window as he lifts his hood: Blue.

"You're back."  The only words I manage to say.  Our tearful embrace lasts mere seconds before he breaks off.

"We have to go," he says.  "Quick."

He tosses a poncho onto my shoulders, shoves a backpack into my hands, and drags me outside.  My fingertips extend for the door, to push it closed, but it's out of reach, and the newspapers near the entrance tumble and grow soggy as I'm whisked away.  "What's happening?" I ask.

The silhouette of a bird falls upon us.  Its talons clutch my shoulders, while Blue leaps on its back.

My screams persist ten minutes before I regain composure; I can't help but look beneath us and imagine plummeting down.  We fly southwest, above the water. Route 27 and Route 28 loom in the distance, so we must be crossing over to Johto. Flickers of lighting expose black dots marching east, toward Kanto.

"What's happening?" I repeat.  Rain, thunder, wind. "Blue?"

"The air won't be safe past this point," he shouts above the flapping wings.  "We'll swim the rest of the way." Pidgeot dives toward the water, but before we crash, Blue's Gyarados surfaces.  We cling to its body, while the waves rock around us.

A rallying screech pierces the air.  A flock of bird Pokemon and their trainers soar above us, toward Mt. Silver.  "Good, Falkner didn't spot us," Blue says.

For a second, the ocean calms down and my balance steadies.  Thunder continues to fire in the distance, but the rain has reduced to a soft patter.  This is my chance.

"You have to tell me what's going on."

"You have to trust me, Daisy."

The more questions asked, the more he withdraws.  There isn't time or energy to pursue my thoughts as the storm returns; all my mental and physical exertion focuses on gripping this Gyarados scale and staying onboard.  One particular question does linger as I hang on: What happened to Blue's Squirtle? Shouldn't it be a Blastoise by now?

The moon is descending when my knees buckle against the shore.  "You'll be safe in New Bark Town," Blue says. He's barely audible; a fog clouds my mind.  I won't realize until tomorrow how high my fever is, not while the cold ocean drench masks my sweat and disperses the heat.

His outstretched palm offers a rectangle of plastic.  There's sequences of letters and numbers—gibberish to me.  A data of birth written with year before month, in the Johto style.  My portrait next to a name: Leah Aurel.

My brother takes a step back.  I latch onto his hand.

"You can't go."

A gust swells around us, sand blows into my eyes, I cough and blink, and my grip breaks.  He's gone.

The next day, Johto declares war on Kanto.  Within a month, Pallet Town is captured.

#

It's been five years since Blue and Red began their journey.  Two years since they vanished. I've scoured every Johto newspaper for information and only found one editorial, four years back, using their story to highlight differences between Johto and Kanto's Pokemon training rights.

Now Professor Oak stands in front of me, with answers.  "Mr. Pokemon," he says, "it's been a lovely chat. Before I head to Goldenrod, could you spare Elm's delivery girl and I a minute of privacy while you get the package?"

"Certainly."  The man in the brown suit bows and exits backdoor.

"Leah Aurel."  Oak sneers. "That name authored a paper refuting my theory on Steel-type evolutions.  I remember reading it with a burning question in mind: how did Elm's new assistant have such a thorough understanding of my hypothesis."  His mocking tone unearths memories. "So it was my former apprentice all along. I trained you for ten years, since you were eleven, and that's how I'm repaid?"

"I warned you to run more controls on that experiment," I say.  "Only Elm listened. But don't change the conversation. What happened to the two of them?"

"How should I know?"  He shrugs, averting his gaze from my eyes.

"Because Blue was your son."

His laugh is dull and humorless.  "An adopted son. You were my adopted daughter, yet you snuck away in the dark."

"It was Blue that night who rescued me, who protected me from the war."  Intrigue and surprise flicker across Oak's face before he buries his emotions beneath a shrewd mask.  "I know he's alive. You made them Pallet Town's first trainers, you were their sponsor. Where are they?"

There's a long pause as Oak calculates his next move, his next sentence.  He's hiding something he can't afford to reveal.

"All of that was mediated through the Kanto Pokemon League, so naturally I lost contact after the invasion," Oak says.  "You see, I've changed my citizenship. I'm from Johto, now."

"I'm sure every other citizen from Pallet was granted that privilege."  Oak smirks at my sarcasm.

"It turns out another person has received the same luxury.  Daisy Oak, my legal daughter, is naturally a Johto citizen, too.  Be thankful." When I don't say anything, he continues. "You're always welcome back in my lab.  You'd be nearer to your brother that way, wouldn't you?"

"I'd never be let out."

It's typical for him to taunt about his secrets this way, but he's teasing the truth.  Somewhere in Kanto was my reunion with Blue.

"It's time I go," Oak says.

The simmering in my heart cools; now it sinks.  It feels like he took Red and Blue with him when he walked out.

The other elderly man returns through the doorway with a portable safe.

"So your name is Mr. Pokemon?" I ask, trying to refocus.

"It's a code name," he says with a gruffness to his voice.  "Tell it to a six-badge or higher league agent if you're in a pinch of trouble."  He sets the vault on the table and unlocks it. "Hide this in your backpack until you return to Professor Elm."

Red and white shapes speckle the Pokemon egg.  The shell is as cold as Mahogany ice, but warmth pulsates through my hands and into the rest of my body.  Not a physical warmth, like heat emanating from a flame. An emotional one: waves of familiarity and assurance wash over me to soothe my doubts.  I drop my egg into my backpack, and the sensation evaporates. I look at the door and think of Blue standing there with his back turned.

My pocket buzzes.  Mr. Pokemon leaps onto the table in a battle stance and snatches several Pokeballs hidden beneath his coat.

"It's my phone," I whisper with the air remaining in my lungs.  I'm on the floor; I jumped several feet back. He lowers his guard as I take the call.  "Hello?"

"Leah, thank goodness you picked up, where are you right now?"  It's Elm's voice, shrill and panicked.

"Just got the package, I should be back by tomorrow.  Is something wrong?"

"Wrong?  It's a disaster, just terrible, I don't know what to do.  Someone stole the Cyndaquil, the Cyndaquil from the Ditto project.  The police are searching New Bark Town, but no one knows what the thief looks like or if he's still here, and the trainers around Cherrygrove aren't interested in helping.  Please, please, can you make it to the city tonight? Stop anyone suspicious you meet?" I can hear him panting on the other end.

"I'm on my way."

Mr. Pokemon waves farewell and mops up his spilled coffee.  For a second he shuts his eyes, as if to take a nap, before his head jolts up, and he spins around in search of invisible assailants that haunt him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Two street lamps flank the eastern entrance to Cherrygrove City.  One is shattered, the glass fragments lying at the pole base. No one passes by.  I crouch in a nearby alleyway, behind a dumpster rattling from the pack of Furret foraging inside.  The occasional claw scraping against metal saves me from dozing off.

It's midnight, according to my phone.  The thief won't stay in New Bark Town, but they can climb north, toward Blackthorn, or swim east, to Tohjo Falls.  There's no guarantee they arrive in Cherrygrove. I stand up, squat back down, and promise myself another half hour.  Just in case, for Elm's sake.

Ten minutes later, footsteps echo through the deserted streets.  A long shadow stretches through the gate. It's followed by a figure who momentarily glows in the light: red hair, black jacket.

He spots my approach and tries to avoid me with a brisk stride.  I call out to him. "Excuse me, do you have a moment?" He walks faster.  I do the same. "Excuse me," I say again.

This time, he leans against a warehouse wall and waits.  It's a teenager, or a boy in his early twenties at the latest—certainly not older than me.  His clothes are dirty, wrinkled, like he's been traveling offroad to hide.

"You look beat up.  Do you need help getting to the hospital or somewhere to rest for the night?" I ask.

"I'm fine, thanks."  I grab his shoulder before he can walk away.  Our heads dart around.

There's nobody but us outside in this ghost town.

"Sorry, I don't have time to talk," he says.  "I'm in a hurry."

"What's the rush?"  I take out my phone and prepare to call the police.  "Where are you coming from? New Bark Town?"

He shoves me aside and snatches a Pokeball from beneath his jacket.  "Get that phone, Cyndaquil!" A small mass torpedoes into my hand; something in my wrist snaps.  My phone splits into pieces that drop to the gravel. "Now knock her out cold."

"Blair, wait, it's me!" I say through gnashed teeth, clenching my right hand with my left.  The Cyndaquil perks her head at the sound of my voice, and there's enough light around us that she can squint at my face.  She looks between me and the boy holding her Pokeball, uncertain.

"Cyndaquil, I order you to tackle."

He twists two fingers around the Pokeball's button.  Blair shrieks in pain. The electrical current that runs through her body is well beyond what badgeless trainers are permitted to dial when taming unruly Pokemon.  She looks at me pleadingly, whimpering.

"Do as I say."  Another current courses through her body, and when it subsides, she prepares to spring.

"Belle, tackle!"  A flash of light erupts from my Pokeball as the Chikorita intercepts Blair mid-air and they bounce off each other, landing on their feet as they face off.  "Great job, one more!"

This time, Belle hesitates.  She glances between me and her opponent.  She realizes it's her sister that she's tackled.

"Fight.  It's the only way we can get her back," I say.  The red-haired boy shouts out a command as Blair squeaks another pained cry.  Belle understands and bashes her head into the snout of her sibling, who reels back.

"Ember, damn it!  A fire move, use a fire move!"  Blair hunches over, the flames on her back flaring up before extinguishing into smoke.

"Stop using that Pokeball, you'll kill her!  She doesn't know fire attacks. They weren't bred for battle."  Belle's next tackle knocks Blair flat onto her back, out cold. "See how weak she's gotten because of that horrible mechanism?"  The boy recalls her into the Pokeball and tries to run, but Belle runs past him and cuts off his escape

"You owe me a phone and a cast," I say, grimacing.  My wrist throbs. Belle pants. There's a bruise around her right eye and a tear in her leaf.  I can't return her, though, or the boy might get away.

"Why'd you do it?" I ask.  "Why'd you steal?"

He holds Blair's Pokeball tight against his chest.  "In this world, people are powerless without Pokemon."  There's no fear or regret, only anger in his voice.

"You can get a Rattata or Sentret for cheap.  Or enlist in the Pokemon League. Or join a city's gym militia.  You don't have to steal," I say.

"Weak Pokemon, weak trainers, weak rights."

Desperation and grim determination mix on his face.  A hopeless yearning for freedom he's not sure exists.  I've seen this look before, on Red and Blue's faces as they began their journeys.  I've felt this way before, trapped in a web and squirming for escape. It makes sense to me, why he stole.

For a second, our eyes lock in understanding.

He chops at my wrist; a sharp pain spikes through my hand.  Belle's Pokeball drops to the floor. He grabs it, turns the knob, and Belle cries out before collapsing.  I lunge at him and my hands wrestle away the Pokeball and tear something off his jacket before he shoves me down and flees.  My wrist bangs against the ground and for a second, everything flashes white.

By the time I get up, he's gone.  The only trace left is a small brooch in my hand with one word carved in it: Silver.

Belle is breathing.  Her pulse is steady. But I don't want to take any chances, so I give up my pursuit and take her to the Pokemon Center.

#

"This is all I have," I tell the police in Elm's lab after explaining what happened.  I show them the brooch and engraving.

"Silver, huh?  We'll check on the possibility that it's his name," one officer says, scribbling notes down.  "We won't need to take it, so hold onto it if you'd like." After a few more questions, the police leave.  Elm and I are the only ones remaining in the lab; he's ordered all his staff to take the day off.

"I'm sorry, Professor."

"What matters most is you're safe.  Though I'm not sure what to do about the Ditto project, if there's a way to salvage the experiment."  He frowns, deep in thought. It's a relief to see the franticness subside. "Oh, as far as projects and experiments, I almost forgot.  What was the package?"

I take the egg out of my backpack and hand it over.  His eyes light up as he holds it, already daydreaming of theories.  "Fascinating. This egg—well, there's no need to worry about a lack of research to do.  Leah, do you want to work on this?"

"Actually, Professor Elm, I've been rethinking my career."  I think about a decade of toiling away inside labs, about my memories of Red and Blue, about the look on Silver's face.  I think about the moment of understanding and recognition that thief and I shared. "I'd like to join the Pokemon League, maybe enlist in the military."

Elm looks up from the egg and snaps out of his reverie.  "Leah, to be frank, I don't know if you'd pass the background checks.  We try our best to ignore it, but everyone in town knows you're a Kanto refugee."

A deep breath.  "My name is Daisy, and I am a legal citizen as the adopted daughter of Professor Oak.  I'd like to serve my country as a trainer of the Johto Pokemon League."

There's silence for a while as Elm tries to make sense of this.  My legs shake. I expect him to refute me again or to call the police.

"A colonist serving in the league is unprecedented, to my knowledge," Elm says.  "But I'll help file the paperwork and do my best to vouch for you-oof, not so fast, watch the egg-"  He's startled by my embrace and I sob and thank him again and again.

That night is sleepless.  So is the next, and the next.  There is paperwork, paperwork requests, followed by more paperwork.  Several times, Elm disappears into his office for phone conferences, and the sound of heated debate leaks out.  Whispers, guesses, rumors about me spark in the lab and erupt like wildfire across town.

A week later, Elm invites me into his office to announce the approval of my training license.

"You've stirred quite the controversy," he says.  "There was dissent, but I suspect some of the league's higher-ups like the idea of having a patriotic colonist to show off."  He shuffles a set of papers. "A few things still need to be taken care of. First, you need to maintain residency in Johto proper.  You can't claim Pallet Town as your current home."

"I guess I'll have to keep paying rent to Anya."  A smile escapes my mouth. I don't say it out loud, but with a salary from the Pokemon League instead of Elm, I can finally catch up in housing payments.

"Second, you have to report to Bell Tower in Violet City for briefing and ironing out details, but in the meantime, I've volunteered to serve as the functional equivalent of your gym sponsor.  Which means for the third item..."

He hands me a Pokeball.  My starter.

"I've seen studies that suggest familiarity with your starter Pokemon helps, so I'd like you to have this Chikorita," Elm says.

"But this is for lab research."  I hold the ball back out.

"I'm scrapping the project.  Maybe one day, you can get the Cyndaquil back, and we can see how the three and their relationships have changed when separated."

"I'll bring her back, I promise."  I clutch Belle's Pokeball against my chest.  The fingers of my other hand trace the engraving on the thief's brooch.  Silver, I repeat to myself. Silver.

"Best of luck on your journey, Daisy."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Belle's leaves slice the branches I toss toward the sky.  She excels versus rocks, grass, and trees. Battling other Pokemon, however, remains a struggle.  My newer catches are weaker, but they know how to fight: Philip, a Rattata, bares his fangs at his competition before I issue an order; Aris, a Spinarak, springs off six black and yellow legs to ram his stinger into foes recklessly.  Born and raised in the lab, Belle lacks the instincts they have. It will take time for her to adjust to a new life.

Life has changed.  I've taken control.

"Take a short break."  I sit on the grass and flip the PokeDex open for my own training: study every Pokemon entry, all 245 of them, to learn types, strengths, weaknesses, moves, every essential for battling strategy.  Occasionally I peek up from the encyclopedia and my notepad to check on Oswald, my Hoothoot, as he swerves through my obstacle course, or to make sure Belle hasn't strayed too far.

She no longer scampers around like in New Bark Town.  She takes a few steps at a time, stops, and with a small yelp, looks around the open field.  It's a search and call for her sisters to come along this journey, to be with her. She's homesick and lonely these days.  I haven't explained that the boy with red hair got away, but my guess is she suspects it. Belle perceives human behavior the best out of the three siblings.

A claw grips my shoulder, and I flail around, scattering my belongings across the ground.  It's just my Hoothoot, trying to perch on my shoulder. "Oh, was that the tenth lap?"

A high-pitched hoot, an affirmative.

"Good job, Oswald."

He awaits further instruction while I pick up my stuff.  Nicknaming them uneases me, but studies agree that named and unnamed Pokemon respond to different training techniques.  Consistency simplifies my job, and Belle was already named.

"Good job, except please don't touch me next time.  Or at least give some kind of warning first," I say before returning the Hoothoot to his Pokeball.  There's always the ball's taming function, but electroshock training is barbaric. There should be another way to reinforce that despite the pet names, I am their trainer, not a friend.

It's almost sundown.  Wild Pidgey and larvae return to their nest and hives.  Owls swoop down as rodents and spiders unearth themselves.

"One more round," I say to Belle.  "Get these with a single shot."

I heave five branches high above me.  Belle fires a leaf with more rotation than usual, curving its trajectory through the air.  It cuts four out of five before it veers into a tree trunk and flops to the ground. "Almost.  We'll do more tomorrow."

#

My training sticks to Route 29 and 30, close to Cherrygrove City.  Elm suggested preparing a strong first impression for Violet City and Sprout Tower.  I eat in the Pokemon Center's cafeteria and sleep in its trainer lodgings, both free of charge, because even the lowest ranked trainers enjoy easy lives.

Tonight, two boys no older than eighteen sit across from me as I eat my meal.  "You've been around here a lot the last few days," the one with a baseball cap says.  "My name's Mikey, from Violet City. How about you?" He offers a handshake.

"Daisy."

"Come on, shake his hand.  No? You're a cold one," the other says.  He wears a tank top and sunhat, and his bug-catching net rests against the table.  "Don, by the way. Why're you so uptight, lady?"

"We're all friendly trainers around here." Mikey flashes a toothy smile.  "I bet you're a rookie, right? Well, so are we, so there's nothing to fear. The League wouldn't assign a vet with a few badges under his belt to a snoozefest like Cherrygrove."

"I'm not assigned here," I say.  "Just passing through."

"In that case, would you like a tour?  Don and I have been on patrol duty here for almost a year now.  We have something fun planned for tonight, if you're interested."  They snicker.

I wave the brace wrapped around my right wrist in front of their faces.  "There was a request from New Bark Town about two weeks ago, asking League trainers in Cherrygrove to search for a thief.  If you two are on guard duty, why'd you turn it down? I had to fight the culprit by myself."

"No way I'm taking orders, lady," Don says.  "Not if they're from the League or my gym. Nope, I didn't sign up as a trainer to get bossed around."

"Did you sign up as a trainer to spend a year doing nothing in Cherrygrove City, then?  Have either of you earned a single badge?"

"Look, not everyone has the ambition to become some four or five badge hotshot.  We're just in it for the basic perks."

"Goodnight," I say.  I leave my dinner unfinished and exit the Pokemon Center.

#

The Cherrygrove Lodge manager, Elisabeth, remembers me.  She thanks her son—eight or nine years old, ten at most—for setting a pot of tea on our table.  "Joey, it's getting late. Get ready for bed, I'll be up soon to tuck you in."

"Mom, tomorrow's the first."  He touches the Pokeball tied around his neck.

"Don't worry about that, dear, I'll take care of it tomorrow.  Run along, now."

"What was that about?" I ask.  Elisabeth waits until his footsteps pace upstairs.

"A couple trainers come once a month, to collect the League's protection tax, but they always hike up the price.  A lot of people protest, claim extortion. It's better to pay and avoid trouble, right?" Her hands wobble as she pours tea.

"My brother and I grew up in Kanto, in a small town between Celadon and Fuschia.  Trainers bullied us the same way. It's the same everywhere, anywhere, without a gym."  I watch leaves swirl in my cup. "Of course, whenever there was real trouble, a Doduo stampede or an angry Snorlax, they were useless."

There were no faces at the funeral service.  The dead were buried inside caskets, while the living wore veils to hide our tears.  We were faceless. But everyone could identify Blue, holding my hand and sniveling as the coffins—one, two, ten, twenty—marched by.  I didn't cry; I wouldn't allow it. I was ten: the oldest in the family now.

"But in Kanto," I continue, "trainer rights are restricted to residents of cities with gyms.  That's not the case in Johto. Why aren't Cherrygrove's trainers here to protect it?"

"You sound like my daughter."  Elisabeth sighs into her lap. "That's why she became a trainer, but the Pokemon League won't assign her here.  Vacation days only, never a long-term stay."

"They're doing it on purpose."

"Maybe.  But she can't quit now, not while business is so bad."  She gestures at the emptiness that fills the room. "Joey looks up to her so much, too.  That Pokeball he wears as a necklace? He threw a fit when I bought him that Rattata, even though it's all I could afford.  But after Dana promised it belonged in the top percentage of Rattata, he started treasuring the gift with all his heart."

For the first time tonight, a smile dances across her lips.

"I can do something," I say.  "I'll step in tomorrow."

"Dana tried, but it only caused more trouble once she left."  She sets her hands on the table to push herself up. "I'm going to check on Joey."

I imagine Red and Blue carrying out assignment after assignment, each miles away from home.  That must be why they never came back, and why the trainers exploiting Pallet never left. The test case, the reform as the Pokemon League had promised, never existed.  Kanto, Johto, nothing changes.

Elisabeth stumbles as she sprints down; she catches herself along the railing.

"Joey's gone.  There's a rope outside his window."

#

Winding streets, dim alleys, empty lots—Joey's nowhere to be found.  I shout his name and my voice, reverberating through the hollows of Cherrygrove City, is the only response.

"Oswald, search for a boy wearing a Pokeball around his neck."  His wings beat as loudly as my heart thumps in my chest.

There's a few people wandering around the Poke Mart's aisles.  "Have any of you seen a young boy wandering around alone tonight?  Son of the Cherrygrove Lodge manager, elementary school kid, wears a Pokeball around his neck?"  Shrugs all around. No one volunteers to help at the Pokemon Center. "Some of you have Pokemon with good night vision," I say, but they shoot me dirty looks.  A trainer mouths, "Not my job" as she yawns and props her legs across a couch.

"Do you have rentals?" I ask the nurse at the front desk.

"There are some Hoothoots and Noctowls that could do the job.  How many badges do you have?"

"None."

She shakes her head sadly.  "I'm sorry, miss, but our policy dictates that renting Hoothoots requires one badge, and Noctowls require three."

As I step back outside, Oswald dives toward me.  With several high-pitched hoots and a flicker of his feet, he motions for me to follow.  I chase after as he leads me to the outskirts of northern Cherrygrove and Route 30.

A pale aura wraps around everyone in the moonlight.  Joey pumps his fist and shouts commands at his Rattata.  With a snarl, it leaps at a Pidgey that flies out of the way.  The bird circles through the air, toward two trainers standing several yards away, then back to its opponent.  Joey's Rattata is ready to pounce but a burst of sand hits its eyes and causes it to cough in place. From the dust cloud, the Pidgey soars out and its talons rip purple fur.  One more slash and blood spills from the Rattata's back as it slumps to the ground.

Joey collapses.  His voice quivers.  "But my Rattata was supposed to be the best."

"Look at it this way, kid."  It's Mikey and behind him, laughing alongside, is Don.  "If I can beat such a top notch Rattata, I'm worth the money this town is paying me after all, right?"

I run to Joey and pull him into a hug, before his outstretched hand can touch the corpse.  Blood spills all over the grass. The stains glow on his hands and knees.

"You call this protection?" I ask.

"Well if it isn't the girl from before.  So you decided to join the fun after all?"

"Picking on children half your age—you call this fun?"

Mikey shrugs.  "Hey, he's the one who challenged me.  Defending his mom, he said. Name a time and place, he said.  I'm not supposed to refuse a challenge, right?"

Joey sobs into the side of my waist.  "Well, this is another challenge, right here and right now," I say.

"It looks like your Pokemon's already out, so Sand Attack!"  Soil kicks up off the ground as my Hoothoot barely flies away in time.

I lean toward Joey's ear and whisper, "Don't worry, I'll get back at them."

Mikey's Pidgey lunges at Oswald as they spiral through the air, but every time he eludes it with ease.  Hoothoots have the advantage at night. "Hypnosis!" I say. Patterns swirl in Oswald's eyes as the opposing bird draws closer.  The Pidgey falters, entranced, until he's barely flapping his wings enough to tread in place. That's when Oswald tackles and crashes it to the ground.

"Just a bit tired from the previous battle," Mike says, recalling his Pidgey.  "But I've got one that's fresher." A Rattata leaps out from its Pokeball and clips one of Oswald's wings.  A minor injury, but he must be fatigued at this point.

"Oswald, return.  And Belle, go!" She emerges with a smile on her face, turning towards me.  "It's a battle—pay attention! Keep your head on the enemy." A bad habit she needs to stop.  Just in time, she jumps out of the way of the Rattata's lunge. It's quick; Belle can leap out of the way but she can't tackle it, either.

"Like this morning," I say.  "Get a nice curve on it." A razor-sharp leaf whips through the air.  It forces the Rattata to jump to the side, but the leaf's arc follows and sticks into a leg.  The rodent loses footing as it lands, opening Belle's chance to leap through the air and pin it down.  She stamps one foot on the tail, locking it in place.

"This is over," I say to Mikey.

"Finish the job."  He mimes a cutthroat gesture.

"Do it, Daisy," Joey says, standing upright now.  Some energy has returned to his voice as he wipes his eyes.

I glance at the gashes across Joey's Rattata's belly and back.  Belle watches me, waiting for orders as she plants her foot against the tail of Mikey's, digging it deep into the dirt.  Joey tugs at my arm. I can feel a slimy mix of tears, blood, and dirt rubbing across my elbow.

"Don't kill.  Just knock it out."  Belle fires another leaf, point-blank, but it's a slow and blunt one.  The Rattata slumps, unconscious.

"It's not fair."  Joey pounds his fists against my arm.  "He took away my Pokemon. Take his, too."

"Please, Joey, listen to me carefully.  Revenge won't-Joey, wait!" With a wail, he runs back toward Cherrygrove City.

"You idiot," Mikey says.  He places his hand against a Pokeball and twists.  There are ten standard setting. Badgeless trainers can only use the first two degrees of electroshock to control their Pokemon, but everyone is allowed to execute the emergency eleventh setting.  Death.

The smell of smoldering fur fouls the air.

"This kind of trash is dime a dozen," Mikey says.  "It's cheaper to replace than to train back to health."

"You two are pathetic," I say.  "Is this what you've been doing the past year?"

"You going to fire us?" Don jeers.  "You're a nobody, just like us."

He's right.  Battle or no battle, trainer or not, Kanto or Johto—it's out of my control.  It was foolish to believe that had changed. Joey's Rattata is dead, and the Pokemon League moves on.

#

"He's angry, but I can't thank you enough.  I don't know what I would've done if he had gotten hurt," Elisabeth says.

"Will there be consequences?" I ask.

"I'll just pay them triple if I have to, whatever it takes.  The trouble's not worth it." I take out my wallet. "Oh no, I can't accept that."

"It's the most I can do."  I place a wad of cash and a Pokeball on the table.  "Tell Joey I'm sorry. Tell him, this is another top-percentage Rattata."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The air retains the acrid taste of charcoal on the first of a three-day walk to Violet City.  A mournful silence haunts the road. Elisabeth told me that Routes 30 and 31 were once the eastern sister of Ilex Forest, and her elementary school practiced drills for high winds, forest fires, and Pokemon swarms. "We wore bodysuits for Beedrill stingers, and gas masks to avoid inhaling Butterfree powder."  They're only memories now, fading into ghost stories of a distant past. She was twelve when the Pokemon League gathered packs of Growlithe and Houndour to blaze a clearing. For months afterward, she coughed ashes.

Today is Thursday, so my Pokemon emerge at twilight.  The latest research recommends sleep three nights a week outside of their Pokeballs, to prevent developing poor circulation otherwise.  Cramming inside a Pokemon Center bedroom was a nightmare, especially while Oswald transitioned to a diurnal cycle, but patience and tolerance are necessary observances of science.  He and Aris roam around as I set up camp, well acquainted with nature's sights, whereas Belle squats with her head tilted upward, mesmerized.

The starry heavens rotate above us, watercolors splashed onto the blanket of clouds drifting by.  The hues of Cherrygrove and New Bark Town's skies reach navy at their darkest, and the fumes of Professor Oak's laboratory envelop Pallet Town in a chemical pink tinge; it's only far from humans that night turns this black, dotted by twinkling white.

When it's time to sleep, Belle jitters in Aris's presence.  In an eternal dance, her twitchy feet force the Spinarak to scurry around evading her stomps, and in step she's unnerved further.  Both adore Oswald, however. They curl up on either side of him, blanketed by his wings as they slumber.

Did Blue and Red lie in the meadow this way before they slept?  What, or who, did they think about? I picture our sleeping bags resting on the grass side by side during our journey to Mt. Moon or Rock Tunnel or Saffron City, together. As our fingers point at our favorite stars and trace constellations, I open my mouth to ask a question.

No words come out.  Again. I try again.  Their lips move—empty.  The scene is muted.

Reality is quiet now.

I didn't have friends in New Bark Town, but I did have chatter: coworkers who discuss science, Ethan's youthful curiosity, and Anya, of course, hounding me for rent.  Now, my daily vocabulary has shrunk to permuting orders to attack. Training Pokemon is turning me feral.

The luck of Blue and Red, to have human companions on their travels.  Each other. Maybe Blue would be fine regardless, with the suave and charm to chat up other trainers.  He still would have been an invaluable presence for his standoffish friend.

These moments help me understand Red more than my brother.

#

The open field narrows on Friday—day two.  Trees and a distant droning, the forest's gentle warning, close in on the path while Dark Cave looms ahead.  Oswald patrols the fortress of bark and leaves as the rest of us work through a session of practice.

The welts Aris leaves on Rattata aren't mere stings anymore; they swell with a venomous bite.  When blood trickles from a minor cut across Aris's leg, he returns to his Pokeball for a deserved rest.  Belle hits all five branches with one leaf now, every try, so her drill has increased in complexity with added targets and changed timings.  I'm prepared to throw eight branches in total, half with staggered releases, when a Hoothoot's cries sweep through the air.

I don't see Oswald flying.

I urge Belle to follow and sprint towards the sound.  The buzz of the woods crescendos into a thump, a pulse.  There are cobwebs and shedded exoskeletons—hints of a lurking Kakuna nest—that I try to ignore.

In the canopy, brown vines ensnare Oswald's body as he thrashes.  Yellow heads pop out of the foliage.

People forget the Bellsprout line are carnivores, and their evolutions feast on more than bugs.  They are waiting for their Weepinbell.

There's no direct path to retrieve him with his ball.  "Razor Leaf!" When nothing happens, I turn back and see the green dot, her paws hesitating alongside the road.

She still cowers when confronted by rustling tall grass.

I snap a Pokeball off my belt.  "Aris, get up there and use Poison Sting!"  The Spinarak ascends along a silk string, toward the tree crown.  His stinger rams into a Bellsprout root and releases Oswald. Another latches onto Aris's leg—I think the injured one—but the Hoothoot pecks it away.  Tendrils writhe across the boughs, starving.

"Oswald, grab Aris and fly up!"

They burst through the leaves, giving me a clear shot.  The beams from their Pokeballs line up and tuck them into the interiors.

A horde of Bellsprout peer at me through the branches before shuffling off to lure new prey.

Belle waits for me with that playful smile.  "Unacceptable," I say. She cowers, but I persist.  "Belle, listen to me. This is unacceptable. Oswald was in trouble.  He could've been maimed or killed! Aris had to rescue him—and you saw him get injured earlier.  I'm lucky no one was seriously hurt.

And it's because you run away.  Every time, you run away. I've tried to accommodate you, I've tried to keep you out of fights, but this is unacceptable.  You put everyone in danger today."

I didn't know Pokemon could cry.

We stand there while the sun sets.  The scent of Pineco breezes past; the grass rustles around us.  I'm not sure what to do. "Belle," I say, trailing off without a follow up.

The Chikorita raises her head and runs.

I could return her to her ball, but intuition screams at me to snatch my backpack and chase.  Fatigue sets in. She's faster, fitter. In the distance I track her heading towards the mountainside and into Dark Cave.  She won't go in far. I rest on my knees and heave for air outside the entrance and call her name. "Belle?"

The dimming light penetrates the cavern mouth two, three yards before it's swallowed by the dark.

"Belle?"

This time I hear squeals from within.  She still doesn't come out. Thoughts of the Bellsprout incident dissuade me from sending Oswald, so I go inside.  Every few steps I crash into a boulder. The ground is not dirt, smooth and soft. It is jagged stones, coarse grit, rock after rock.

"Belle?"  As her voice grows louder, my ears direct me toward the ceiling.

A snare swallows my body and yanks.

Zubats swarm past our nets and take to the night as Belle and I scream.  My hands grasp around for Oswald's Pokeball—not on my belt, and neither is Aris's.  They must have come loose when I was launched up. Wings scurry by for what feels like hours, until the entire colony has exited the cave.

When I regain composure, my fingers rub against the net's taut, rugged texture.  Weedle silk. They don't naturally live in caves, so these are a bug catcher's traps to snag Pokemon or rob unsuspecting trainers.  The trapper might not return for hours or days. They might not be friendly, either.

Belle continues to fuss around.  "Settle down." She must be right next to me; I still can't see.  My phone light is enough, barely—she's there. I lean against the net, reach through the darkness, and come in contact with her leaf.

"Settle down," I hush, stroking her head.

"It's okay.  Don't be afraid, don't be afraid.  Settle down."

Over and over.

"I'm sorry for yelling earlier," I say.  "You weren't raised to fight. But that's all this journey is.  Fights. It's stupid, it's senseless, it won't end." The brooch inside my pocket presses down on my skin.  "It will-I will keep going. You don't have to. You can return to Elm if you want."

Noises exit her mouth that I don't understand.  She realizes, because after I don't respond, she touches me with her paws.  "You have to battle if you stay." Despite the warning, she holds on.

"Fine," I sigh.  We'll repeat this discussion again when she's flung into her next bout.  Elm underestimated the importance of instinct when he decided on my starter.  Silver must be shocked, running into the same frustrations. Except—the sight of Blair, doubling over in pain, as he twists the knob—his methods differ.

It occurs to me: instincts.  Belle doesn't resist capture.  With my palm on her forehead, I ask, "Did you try cutting the strings?"

She shakes a no.

Withdrawing my hand, I say, "Use Razor Leaf."

A soft thud.  She's out. It's too dark to aim at my snare, not without the risk of hitting me, so I ask her to search for Oswald and Aris's Pokeballs instead.  Whether she can activate them or deliver them to me is a worry for later.

Something rumbles to my left.  I spin around with my phone and gasp.  A Geodude sits on a stalagmite, two feet from my net.  For a second it looks like he might swing a fist, but he stretches and yawns with his back turned.

A plan hatches in my mind as I rummage through my bag.

I poke an unused Pokeball through the net and tap the Geodude.  He vanishes amidst a flash of light. My hand retracts as the capsule wobbles once, twice, thrice before it locks onto the target's DNA and confirms a catch.

I brace myself, hold my breath, and press the button.  The Geodude emerges inside the net. The bottom trembles, lurches, then rips.

I scramble to my feet and wave my phone until it spots him.  Aggressive Ground-types are difficult to control without the adequate threat of a Pokeball's electricity, so I prepare to recall him if there's any sign of attack.  He raises his arms, shielding his head from the light.

"Damian," I say, pointing to him.  I illuminate the sphere resting in my hand.  "Damian," I say once more. "Do you understand?"

He rolls his head back and forth.  I think that's a nod, a yes. "Good," I say, gulping as he's returned to his Pokeball.  My fingers squeeze it as if to suppress a twitch, an attempted breakout.

A minute later, Belle rolls two Pokeballs to my feet and huddles against my legs.  "Let's go," I say, gathering my belongings. "And, um, thanks. Good work."

It's off schedule, but I let everyone sleep outside tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

In the shadows of steel frames raised toward the sky, bodies funnel through the grid of streets like water squeezing through pipes. The space of Violet City is shaped by lines. A town curves and bends to its people's flow, but a city's edges can't be pushed or pulled. You are both part of the geometry and held inside it. You stay within its boundaries, or else you fall out.

There are temporal lines. Flying-types eclipse the sky to relay messages, parcels, and trainers, but only when bells sound across the city. Everything begins and ends according to its allotted cutoff. My meeting at Sprout Tower slots into a queue. "I've booked you for next week," the clerk says. Only the pillar towering behind him loops and spirals, a steady heartbeat for a city galloping forward.

There are other lines, besides space and time, that define and divide. Sweat, grime, and the odor of rotten eggs crowd Violet's eastern gate but never breach the barrier. In double-file people pray for entry, or else they're scattered back to the outskirts of Mt. Silver, to towns buried inside the warzone. They hold up documents and compare, hoping that their forgeries pass as authentic. Even if they're admitted into the city, it's only to the fringes and the underground, where they remain unseen.

At the front, they submit to a Drowzee's Hypnosis so guards can interrogate them about connections to Team Rocket. A Growlithe sniffs the ranks; it comes to a halt and barks. A man breaks from the line, but the blur of orange fur tackles him to the ground and security swarms them. From his backpack spills three Pokemon eggs.

"Where's your breeder's license?" The man babbles an explanation as they drag him and his contraband out of the crowd's sight.

Trainers like me have paused to glance. A flash of our cards, and we pass through without further inspection. Following others through the gate, I tell myself, "I'm not like the rest." But I can't claim to belong with anyone else, either. I'm not standing outside with the elderly man whose skin peels in the sun, or the mother nursing a baby clothed in rags.

"You've been pushed back two weeks," the clerk says next time we meet. It might be September before I can leave Violet City.

"What happened?"

"A fire broke out on the second floor and caused some delays. League agents and our gym think it was arson—probably a Rocket and a Fire-type."

"A Fire-type?  Did you catch him?"  The man shakes his head as his handkerchief dabs at the soot on his desk.

If he's still in the city, he won't show his face in the day. At sunsets, Oswald and I hunt. Our patrol begins around the skyscrapers and crowds, but that's not where he would go. I imagine I'm him: the red-haired thief scratched and bruised from a nighttime trek across Route 29 offroad. We cross the threshold where the city's metal beams begin to rust, then give away to stone columns and Spearow nesting on thatched roofs. When moonlight shines on these parts, Gastly surface through the walls to forage for dreams. One hovers over her prey, a beggar sprawled out on the sidewalk, and waits for the succulence of sleep. I catch the predator, naming her Nina, to aide my search.

Silver's nowhere to be found. I rethink our encounter in Cherrygrove. He kept walking, wouldn't pick a fight, until we were by an empty warehouse. I assumed it was to help his escape, but what if he wanted to protect locals from collateral harm?

We chase further, to the city underground, where buildings and people dwindle to dust beneath the earth. The lofty eyes of Violet Gym's citadel extend across the skies, but they do not penetrate down here. The aroma of gasoline spills from lanterns illuminating these tunneled streets. Dealers spread blankets across the ground, beneath rancid Pokemon eggs and pink tail meat.

"Lady, you don't belong here." Two men step out of the shadows and twirl their daggers. Damian emerges and crushes a fistful of rocks, while Nina materializes behind me to guard the rear.

"Have either of you seen a red-haired boy?" The men shake their heads, dropping their blades to the dirt. The gravel trickles out of Damian's hands. "Are you sure?"

"Promise." They're on their knees. Their faces stir a queasiness in my chest, thumping, and it bubbles to my mouth. My eyes dart toward the white of my knuckles, clenched around two Pokeballs. I relax my fingers; blood returns to them, and my heart settles.

"Thank you." I recall Damian and hurry back. Nina trails in the back, keeping watch.

#

Our room in the Pokemon Center has grown crowded at bedtime, but I stick to the schedule; Tuesday means they spend the night outside. They assemble into their favorite sleeping spots except Belle, who refuses to settle underneath Oswald's wing. She prods at the brooch and stares out the window. I think Oswald told her about our search for Blair's kidnapper. Hoothoot and Chikorita are close to each other in the communication taxonomy, a grouping of species by how well they understand each other. Forest-dwellers like Hoothoot, Chikorita, and Spinarak cluster together, whereas my Geodude, sleeping with his face pressed against the wall to mimic burrowing into stone, is placed far enough that it's akin to speaking a different language. Gastly like Nina float in between.

Humans stand alone on the chart, in the upper-right corner.

As I lay down, the sight of those two men, knees dug into the soil, plays back in my head. The weary faces outside Violet City's eastern gate rise, and the two images meld together. I see Mikey and Don knocking on Elisabeth's door with their other hands gripped around Pokeballs. A child pounds on a Machoke's legs as it dangles her father, while a lady laughs behind them.

Did you use your Pokemon like this, Blue?

A drop of liquid sticks to my forehead and I jolt up, wiping it off like it's sweat. Nina's drooling above me, savoring my thoughts. I'll need to wean her off this diet.

Belle and Nina can't sleep either, so at 2 AM, I bring them to the Pokemon Center's courtyard. The Chikorita hops onto a small table and gazes upward, a moonbeam scattering off the brooch held between her teeth, while the Gastly peeks into window after window in search of nourishment. I crouch by the pool and splash water into my face, to douse my nausea. An icy tingle bathes my skin, but it doesn't clear away the haze.

My phone rings. "Hello?"

"Hello!" I should've known it was Elm; he'll work three days straight if his wife doesn't remind him to sleep. "Where are you right now?"

"Violet City."

"Still there? Excellent, excellent. That makes my job far easier."

"Professor Elm, you're not making any sense." It's worrying to hear a full gram of caffeine in his voice. "What job? Why does it matter where I am?"

"The egg, of course, the egg! Have you forgotten the egg? I have to run more tests, just to be sure, but stay there and don't leave the city. I'll come in a week, two at most, and meet you for confirmation."  He hangs up.

Wiping the moisture off my cheeks, I notice my restlessness has been quelled. I remember at this journey's onset, I had been glad to stop hearing Elm speak. He was always kind to me, but he belonged to two aimless years drifting through New Bark Town, trapped. Like treading water in the ocean to survive, with no way to swim to shore.

Now, though, the familiarity of his voice is nice.

This time I dive into the pool. Any noise or turmoil is muffled in here, reduced to a simmer. The sensation of drowning is stronger above the surface.

 #

A young man crosses his arms and taps his heels outside of Sprout Tower. A silver-haired woman next to him monitors the rocking motion of the pagoda exterior. "You're Daisy?" the man asks as I approach. "Good. Let's begin."

"Aren't you going to introduce yourself?" the woman asks.

"Falkner." Dread festers inside me as I recall Blue mentioning that name, on the night we escaped from Pallet Town. Had he been hunting us, when we dove to the ocean and avoided the sky?

I'm relieved when all he does is turn around to walk inside.

"Business as usual with that one," the woman says. "They take themselves so seriously in their first years." The muscles in her face twist into a smile, but not a welcoming one; it's the bony look of hunger upon reaching the dinner table. She peers through an invisible microscope when she examines my face.

"I'm Karen. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Daisy Oak." Her fingers twitch when we shake hands, tracing every ridge of my skin. I pretend nothing's strange and stifle my urge to flinch.

On Sprout Tower's highest floor, six old men flank either side of the silver rod that bars the handles of the oak doors. "Have you prepared the Xatu, Li?" Falkner asks. "Good. Let us in."

Unlit candles line the chamber's walls, and twelve cushions, arranged like the hours on a clock, encircle a central dais. On the eighth hour's pad stands a green bird, its white wings folded across its body as it stares into future and past. A Xatu network. I've read the theory of its design, but I've never seen one built before.

Falkner walks between the twelfth hour and the first, while Karen sits on the eleventh. They gesture at me to stand on the platform. "Li, close the door," Falkner says.

The dark envelops us. Then flames plume along the perimeter, and the room glows with the shades of twilight.

"So, is everyone here?" Despite knowing what would happen, I nearly slip off the podium when the tin sound rattles out of the Xatu's mouth. The bird's body is motionless as the voice speaks. "Count." I watch with fascination and horror as the Xatu jumps across cushions, skipping over two o'clock, six o'clock, and Karen's, before returning to eight. "We are missing Whitney, Pryce, and-"

"I'm right here, in Violet," Karen says. "Let's move on, you know those two won't show.  Shouldn't we use monitors, to avoid this confusion?"

The Xatu hops one pad clockwise and says, "Some of our locations are sensitive." The tone has changed. It evokes bicycle horns, sand and seawater, and the sour flavor of fresh Magikarp—a southern Kanto accent colors the voice. "You would be surprised how much information a monitor leaks. A shadow in the background, a muffled noise in the distance. Whereas Xatu networks have never been broken."

"Focus, everyone," the Xatu says as it returns to eight. "We're here to settle the case of Daisy Oak, from New Bark Town but of colonial origin. An unprecedented case."

"So you are the adopted daughter of Professor Oak?" the fierce and stern voice of the twelfth hour asks. I'm unable to summon words, overwhelmed trying to process everything.

"She certainly is," Karen says from the eleventh cushion. She pets the bird and croons. "I recently received confirmation from the professor himself."

The Xatu erupts into a flutter of voices and lurches from spot to spot. My neck strains and my head dizzies from swiveling around to track it. A minute passes before the Pokemon perches onto the eighth and screeches. "We are not here to deliberate. We've already done so. Today's meeting is to inform her of the results.

"Daisy, I am Will of the Pokemon League's Elite Four, head of Internal Affairs. I put your case to a vote, in the form of three proposals. The first was that you have the same right to train Pokemon as any other Johto citizen."

There is a pause, as if they're gauging my reaction. I can't remember if Xatu networks transmit sight through those blank, unmoving eyes. The silent, mounting tension compels me to ask, "What was the outcome?"

"Johto's eight Gym Leaders, the Pokemon League's Elite Four, and our Champion voted 8-4 in favor of this proposal. You have the right to know: Chuck, Clair, Bruno, and I dissented. Whitney was absent."

Now that it's official, a wave of relief washes over me.

"Welcome," Karen says. "So what's your goal? Do you want to join a gym militia and defend a city? Or travel around Johto on League missions and work up to becoming an ace?"

I clear my throat and cough. My lungs burn from the thick fog of melting wax. "There's a third option, isn't there? I'd like to join the League's military force and fight in the war."

"On this second proposition," Will says, "we voted 9-3 against.  Your supporters were Bugsy, Jasmine, and Karen. Whitney was absent."

Nothing else matters if I can't search Kanto for Blue and Red. "Is there anything I can do?" I ask.

"You are a colonist, with twenty-one years lived in Kanto," the tenth voice says.  "It would be a needless risk to take you into my army."

"A transparent attempt at sabotage," the fourth voice agrees.

The room bursts into a maze of accusations as the Xatu leaps around, denouncing me from every angle. I twist around the platform, but my body feels heavy, sluggish. The wafting incense smothers the oxygen and clouds my mind. I can't keep up. I can't navigate through. Words like "spy" and "double-agent" echo amidst Will's demands for order, escalating until I shout.

"I have no loyalty to the Kanto gyms or what's left of their pathetic Pokemon League. All I care about is finding my brother, and I'll serve under Johto if I have to."

My loudness surprises me.

Karen's standing now, baring her teeth with that starving smile. Falkner angles his body against the candles' glow; hair conceals half his face, and shadows conceal the other. The room's shades of dusk have dimmed into the beginnings of night.

"We will review, and if necessary, revote on this second proposal when you have collected four badges," Will says. "That is the point at which trainers are eligible for the League's military."

There's no guarantee they'll change their minds. I might be trapped again, stuck, without a path to Kanto.

"We should hurry," Falkner says. The light is dying in this room, on its last gasps. There's nothing I can say to persuade them; I'm clutching, blindly, for footing in the dark.

"The third proposal: you will be restricted from a gym allegiance until your fourth badge.  Only Bugsy dissented; Whitney was absent. This means no access to rentals or training facilities, and no joining a city's defense. Technically, you'll classify as one of the Pokemon League's agents.  However, we of the League consent to not assign you to missions or duties until you acquire four badges, at which point you may join a gym instead."

"A free agent," Karen says. "It's an opportunity to grow as a trainer."

None of these words mean anything. They're about the details, the journey, but none of that matters without the destination.

"Dismissed," Falkner says. The doors swing open and a radiance floods in, like a wave, to extinguish the candles' last embers.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The trainer on the monitors draws the first Pokeball off her belt and pitches the capsule forward. Several camera angles zoom in on her dusty face, her hollow stare. Gray patches under her eyes bloat with insomnia.

"I watched this earlier today. You must have spent a lot of time preparing," Falkner says as we review the video of my Pokemon battle inside his office. He doesn't participate in the fighting itself until the stakes reach a third badge or higher, but he provides feedback for low-level trainers afterward. "Looked up the kind of Pokemon we used for the first badge challenge ahead of time and trained your counters accordingly, right?"

He states it plainly and unimpressed, without the faintest hint of praise or admiration, yet I feel obliged to nod.

"It makes it difficult to evaluate your aptitude and skill as a trainer," he says. "A real enemy won't gift you study time in a controlled environment. Look."

On the displays, a Violet City trainer pulls a Pokeball off a rack and releases a Pidgey. As Oswald and his opposition spiral around in laps, sizing each other up, Falker pauses the footage and traces a line between the Pidgey and me.

"Your Hoothoot gave up an opening by neglecting to position the foe in front. There's no rule on the battlefield that restricts Pokemon to attacking Pokemon. You're a target, a win condition."

I stroke my wrist. The crash against Blair's skull lingers in my bones.

Already Falkner turns his head to flash a glare, to make sure his disapproval isn't missed. It reminds me of Oak tearing into his research aides' lab work one sentence into their hypotheses. "Even in the gyms, from the third badge challenge onwards, the fights include the trainers. Learn to protect yourself. Deal with adversity. Understood?"

"Understood." Oak's assistants need his advice and goodwill to launch their careers, and I need Falkner's support and vote after attaining my fourth badge. Calling on a familiar habit, I jot down criticisms into the notepad I've brought. "I'll fight some aggressive wild Pokemon and begin practicing for that." As with the professor, voicing my agreement doesn't please Falkner, because he expects it.

This is the first time I've observed Oswald up close while battling. Etched on his temple are hard lines that don't exist when he latches onto my shoulder or proffers his wings to Belle and Aris. Those two wouldn't dare approach this Hoothoot at night. But this is his true self, unmasked. Trained Pokemon aren't domesticated; they don't forget the wilderness. The feral glint in his eyes swirls into fractals as he lulls the charging Pidgey to sleep.

"More experienced Pokemon won't go straight at you if you telegraph such an obvious attack," Falkner says. "They'll take a more roundabout path and avoid establishing eye contact. Work on disguising your intentions."

The trainer onscreen is meant to be me, but it's not someone I recognize. Adrenaline has overswept the fatigue, and it ignites a relentless concentration across her face. This is the real trainer her Pokemon obey. Scenarios to kill the Pidgey are playing out in her calculated mind.

"You look worried."

"I'm fine," I say, steeling myself.

"I meant on the video. Your hands and knees are trembling. You're afraid."

That's not what I see, but I can't recall well enough to know who's right. The moment of battle severs me from memory. The brain forgoes access to the past and storage for the future to sharpen instinct, reflex, the functions needed for the present second's survival.

Oswald swoops in to peck with his beak, but his target stretches its talons and slashes at his head. The girl we're watching slaps a hand over her mouth.

"Your plan was to trade blows and pray the early initiative gained from Hypnosis was enough? It's good to take minor edges, but don't sit on one and risk a lucky hit changing the tide." As the two bird Pokemon claw at each other, their balance in the air begins to waver. "See how the opponent is favoring its right wing? Your Hoothoot's first strike injured the left. You should've exploited that, forced the Pidgey to fly through the air more and use it."

A brief respite is filled in by scratches of pen against paper. He's more generous with advice than Professor Oak.

A camera shows me yelling, but the audio is muted. It hides from me the tone of my voice, whether I'm nervous or excited. The Pidgey plummets to the floor while Oswald floats down in a slower descent. Blood trickles out from a wound on his forehead, but his body swells in rhythm with his breath.

"You said you want to join the military? In Kanto, you'll have to take down more than two Pokemon, more than six, and there's no chance for breaks. With your tactics, do you think this Hoothoot would last? It might win one battle but it'll lose the war."

The footage captures satisfaction sweeping over my face.

"Why aren't you writing that down, too?" Falkner asks. I hastily flip the page and scribble into my notepad. "Textbook," he says when Oswald returns and Damian emerges. The opposing Pidgeotto can't make a decent as the Geodude's fists bat him away. "A strong lead-in, but you kept a Pokemon with type-advantage fresh for the ace. Very textbook." His head snaps in my direction. "That's not a compliment."

"Sorry, I don't follow. Is this strategy wrong?"

"Correct and incorrect mean nothing in a real fight. What matters is success or failure. If the strength of your Pokemon is outmatched, battling 'correctly' guarantees you'll lose." Damian scoops a fistful of gravel and hurls it into the air. He shows no reaction to the stones battering against the Pidgeotto's body and crumpling it against the wall. "You'll have to improve in the next few gyms if you want my vote."

Damian approaches the limping Pidgeotto to deliver the finishing blow—these emotions, I recall. They're magnified in my celebration onscreen; they run through my blood even now. A wave of relief, a surge of pride, unbridled exhilaration. Is it the same scene after every gym challenge, a trainer rejoicing as the corpses are carted off, or will I change, develop a bloodthirst or insensitivity, with experience? I'm starting to understand why every veteran battler shares the same look in their eyes.

"What will you be looking for when you make your decision?" I ask.

"If you want to impress me, prove you can defend yourself and overcome adversity for your third and fourth challenges. I recommend heading south, to Azalea, for your second and using that to practice. Bugsy's too soft on the mid-level trainers—I don't learn a thing from watching people fight him unless it's for their sixth badge or higher." Falkner's displeasure seeps through his voice. "It's best if you lay low and stay out of the cities for a while anyway."

"What do you mean?" He unfurls the newspaper sitting on his desk and points to a snapshot of Falkner, Karen, and me standing outside Sprout Tower.  _ War in Jeopardy! A Kanto Spy? _ reads the headline. Written and photographed by Cameron Underwood.

"Focus on your training. You don't want to deal with this yet."

There's a knock on the door, but before we can react, it creaks open and Karen steps through. "Are you finished yet?" she asks, propping herself against the frame. "How long are you going to keep me waiting?"

"We've only gone over the film once," Falkner says. "There's more to discuss."

"I can come back later," I say, not ready to stomach watching myself again.

"But it's you I want to talk to, not Junior." Karen strides toward us and pounces onto Falkner's desk. With that skeletal smile, she leans toward his ear and speaks in a hushed, lullaby voice. "I hear Team Rocket has something planned for the southwest residential districts this afternoon. Koffings and Voltorbs set to self-destruct. Shouldn't you be there, protecting your people from terrorists?"

He doesn't look at her as he responds. "Over ten five-badge trainers are stationed in the area, three with seven badges. I trust my men and women will be competent."

Karen swings toward the windowsill and surveys the bustling city below us. Her fingers trace across a framed photograph, in which a man cradles his newborn son. "Falkner would have helped."

He tosses a Zephyr Badge onto the table. "Your first badge. You now have permission to use level three electroshock when training your Pokemon." Without another word, he walks out.

"I don't understand," I say. "Isn't he Falkner?"

"To me, he's still Junior. His father was the previous gym leader, and an excellent one, until his death at the start of the war. But enough of that." Karen leaps to her feet and claps. "Zuki! Lead the guest in and guard the entrance."

A woman dressed in a kimono enters the office and trailing behind her is the unkempt hair and dingy lab coat of Professor Elm. "Good to see you, Daisy," he says, waving. The name sounds foreign in his voice.

"It's nice to see you, too, Professor Elm." I almost forget to wave back. "But why are you here?"

"For a test." He hands me a binder and I scan through the pages: graphs of electromagnetic outputs, interference patterns, and resonances. "It's the egg. I suspect it's locked onto a specific wave function and refusing to respond to anything else."

"What kind of wave function? Have you recreated it?"

"Not yet, but I have a guess."

Zuki draws out the egg from beneath her robe and gives it to Elm. Karen runs her fingertips over the surface first, inspecting the red and blue shapes tattooed across, before stepping back and watching as it's handed over to me. As before, ripples of joy and comfort slosh around in my heart despite the shell freezing my skin.

"Notice anything?" Elm asks. "How does it compare to last time?"

"Nothing's changed."

Elm lifts the egg out of my hands and nearly fumbles it as he jumps in place. "As I thought! See the difference?" He offers it to Karen. She flinches on contact, like her hand had brushed against a stove.

"It's cold like before," she says, "but this new feeling—almost psychic. Explain."

"When Daisy first gave me this egg at the laboratory, it radiated this peculiar sensation. But in the weeks since then, it may as well have become a chunk of ice." Professor Elm looks directly into my eyes as he extends the egg back toward me. "It's only with your touch, your resonance, that it's alive. Like a baby Sentret imprinting on its mother, this egg has locked onto you."

"But why me?" I flip through the binder for an answer.

"That I'm not sure. Karen, do you know anything about this species or its taxonomy?"

"It's an ancient Pokemon our ancestors called Togepi. That's the only information we have."

Sirens erupt. They blare through the building and echo each other, to alert gym trainers that Team Rocket's attack on Violet City has begun. Karen smooths out her hair, and her bony smile resurfaces.

"Well, Daisy, you've had a lot to be excited about, lately." The lullaby voice has returned. "How would you like to carry that egg around with you, at least until it hatches? Zuki and I are needed elsewhere, but I have an agent stationed near Azalea—Naoko. You can meet her at the gym and give an update there.

"You'd be doing a great favor to my branch," she says.

I've only heard whispers about Karen's role in the Pokemon League, the name of her department and nothing more: Special Operations. One of Johto's strongest trainers and in a few badges from now, she can decide my fate. I'm in no position to refuse.

"Thank you for the gift," I say.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

At sunrise, I check the Union Cave waitlist. My name stares at me from the middle, unmoved. Passage through the tunnels is restricted while Pokemon League agents hunt for a Team Rocket base, and in the meantime, Route 32's journeying trainers cram inside a makeshift Pokemon Center. Rattata droppings clog the air. Zubat screeches bounce through the halls. So even though I slept poorly, I don't stay inside. Every morning, after confirming another day on standby, I push my way through the lobby and don't return until midnight.

The facility edges a fishing village that I stroll through on my daily routine. A web of creaking bridges, and houses that float above the dawn-shaded sea. Magikarp protrude from the surface upside down as if gasping for dry air, unearthed from a mass grave.

The drought plaguing southern Johto has forced Wooper to abandon their habitats and migrate here, where their mucous coatings secrete into the water. Of the natives, only Tentacool and Qwilfish survive. The League waives the protection tax for villagers who catch the invaders and hand one to each trainer passing by, but it won't be enough to purify the bay.

After half an hour, I reach the stripe of shadow beneath the Magnet Train rail line. No train rattles from above, and no train has since the war began. With my backpack as a pillow I lie down on the planks and gaze at the track's underside, in the way one stares at the blank ceiling of their bedroom. Sometimes my arms stretch upward to lift the Togepi egg and mimic the pillars rising from the water to bear the structure's weight.

This spot reminds me of home. Not New Bark Town. Not Pallet Town. My first home, on the outskirts of Celadon.

I try to nap. In the dark, a voice echoes inside my chest. "As long as this is what you want," it says. "As long as you're happy." I snap my eyes open, cradle the egg, and concentrate on the rail again to muffle it. I need these morning escapes to calm my mind, before I head back to a meadow for afternoon training.

The grass is brown, the soil is cracked, and each step crunches the fall frost; still, the Rattata and Mareep roam here to graze. Three of my team can battle weaker wild Pokemon independently now, but when Nina, Damian, and Oswald are released, only the Gastly takes off in search of prey. The Geodude listlessly rolls around, and my Hoothoot's feathers are molting in autumn instead of spring. It's the third time this week they've looked drained. Maybe they need stamina training, but for now I have to concentrate on Pokemon that require the most attention.

After Belle's second skirmish, the Chikorita skitters toward me. "You have to keep going," I say. She's required even more prodding since leaving Violet City. Her foot plants on top of my shoe; she glares adamantly. It's the most aggression she's ever shown, and it's to refuse a fight instead of entering one.

"Fine." I reach for her Pokeball, but she shakes her head. "Then what's wrong? What do you want?"

Her answer is a scowl: clenched jaw and pointed leaf. I try my hardest to comprehend, but I can't, and I look away.

"Okay, take a break." But instead of walking toward Oswald, Belle stays at my side. "Come out, Isadora." A slimy blue body with purple antlers emerges from her Pokeball, squinting at me with a tilted head. "We're going to work on your aim today."

Before I can explain the drill I've planned, Nina flies toward us bearing a Rattata in her mouth. She spits the body at my feet as Belle finally darts off. I take a few steps back and say, "We've been over this. You don't have to bring them back to me." Blood dribbles out from where fangs pierced the skin.

I'm not ready as Isadora waddles toward Nina, inhales, and fires a direct shot.

Bursts of water sputter through the air in pursuit of the Gastly. "Stop it!" Nina swerves behind me, and I scramble to the ground to duck an attack. Shouts at Isadora go unheard. "Oswald, Hypnosis!" He tries to approach the Wooper, but he can't establish eye contact without getting hosed.

My fingers wrap around a Pokeball's knob and for the first time, they twist. Level one shock. But the Water Guns continue to spray above me and my common sense returns—Isadora's immune to electricity.

"Belle, do something!" She's taken shelter beneath my backpack and pins her head down. "Belle, just Tackle her! Help!"

The roar of water halts. I whisper a count to ten, then stand up. Isadora's collapsed, her body convulsing. Nina pants, her face pale.

A Curse.

I notch Nina's Pokeball up to level three. Two pained grimaces, as I recall the pair into their capsules. Pokeball technology slows the Curse down, but I should hurry to the Pokemon Center. The spheres roll onto the ground. My knees buckle.

Belle's flinch tells me that she understands the expression on my face. "You can't keep doing this! Every single time!" She retreats behind Oswald, who wobbles on a leg.

"Maybe I should send you back."

#

The night before I leave Violet City, Elm waits for me in the lobby of the Pokemon Center. "I've been trying to get in touch with you," he says, scrolling through the list of calls on his phone. Zuki watches us, from the far side of the room.

"Do you have time to talk?" Elm asks. It's both gentle and stern, suggesting I can refuse while insisting on a yes.

"I have to get ready for Azalea Town."

"Can I just spend some time with Belle?" he pleads. "To see how she's doing?"

It's not a request I can reject. "Okay."

Zuki follows us through the hallway and guards the door as we enter the courtyard. Belle pops out of her Pokeball, and in nervous anticipation of battle, spins around for a few seconds to assess her surroundings, but upon noticing Professor Elm she squeaks in delight. He sits down, cross legged, and she nuzzles against his lap.

I lurk in the corner, underneath the lantern, while the two frolic. Elm brought her favorite toy, a ball that rockets into the air after her paw squishes it into the ground. Belle chases after the bounces as he keeps up at her side. One of my jobs was overseeing this kind of playtime, except I never ran along like he does. I'd stand about where I am right now and read a book or enjoy the breeze, hoarding a sliver of time owed to no one but myself.

Elm, out of breath, staggers back to me as Belle continues to jump around the courtyard. "She looks quite healthy," he says. "You're doing a great job taking care of her."

"It's hard getting her to fight. She hates battles, she hates the wild." A small plop from the pool, followed by a heavy splash. "But she's trying."

"Homesick?"

That's not a term I'd apply to Pokemon. "Maybe dormant instincts."

"I should've brought Beck. She must really miss her two sisters."

"It's all she thinks about," I say. "It might be the only reason she bears with this journey." Bears with me. "She's pushing herself forward to find Blair."

It's hard to tell in the dark, but I think at the edge of the pool, Belle perks up at the mention of her sister's name.

"Isn't that what you're doing, too?" Elm asks. "Aren't you looking for your brother, Blue?"

#

"Your Wooper's stable." The nurse's voice pulls me from a haze, and I scramble to sit straight, feet on the floor, instead of sprawling on the couch. "She'll be fine after an overnight stay. Go get some rest."

"Thank you." My body sinks back into the cushions as he walks through the sliding doors. The red glow of the Emergency Ward sign bleeds into my eyes, and an eternal fluorescence erases the waiting room's passage of time.

It's silent, apart from a distant, mechanical hum. Everyone else emptied out for their lodgings hours ago.

My feet sting, my arms itch, and my back aches for rest. It's been days since my last full night of sleep. At first I blamed the insomnia on camping outdoors while fall settled in: a frozen ground, more bedrock than soil, radiating a chill through the tarp and into my sleeping bag. But now I spend hours each day tossing around on a mattress at the Pokemon Center, watching a foreign ceiling.

Of the rooms I've slept in, the one in New Bark Town was the smallest. The floorboards groaned, the ceilings chittered with the steps of Rattata, and Anya's broomstick pounded against the door with the regularity of an alarm clock, hounding me for rent. Yet it's the only bed that comfortably was mine. Even growing up, I shared with Blue, whose nightmares beside me stirred both of us awake.

My body fidgets. I stand up, pacing around the room to shake the energy off. There's too many unanswered questions to drift off into a peaceful slumber. I spread my Togepi egg and my Pokeballs across a table and grab the one with a purple sticker. Why did Isadora attack Nina? Is it going to happen again, and how can I stop it? I didn't even know, before today, that Nina knew Curse.

My fingers tremble around the sphere's central dial. In the laboratory, there are ways to approach a question, but the trainer's method is to plow through with discipline. Hushed voices swap stories about humans who became complacent, a second too slow reaching for their belt. There's a reason each capsule is built with that final setting, the failsafe.

I roll Nina's Pokeball onto the floor, to give her time to calm down, and instead reach for the one with a green sticker.

My Chikorita does her usual prance, afraid of an attack, followed by a sigh of relief when she recognizes the Pokemon Center. "Belle," I say, and she shrinks away.

"We need to have that talk again. You can't keep doing this," I begin, but she doesn't listen. She hurries over the Pokeballs and rotates each with her paws. It's not until the third one that I realize she's checking the stickers.

"She's not there right now, but Isadora will be fine." I try to maintain a soft and gentle tone as I speak. "If you care about her, you should've broken up the fight today. You're the starter; you should be the leader of this team. Did you see Oswald? He could've gotten hurt, too, because you didn't help him."

The last sentence must resonate, because her ankles squirm and her head tilts toward the carpet.

"Do you understand, Belle? Even if you don't want others to get hurt, sometimes you have to fight. So next time—" The words rattle off my tongue shoddy and borrowed. "You know what? Forget it."

Six Pokemon and an egg is too much. Now I understand why most people manage three at most, with shared types and communication. Each capture increases the chance of conflict or an accident.

At the same time, I have to push myself toward my best. It's the dangerous creatures, not the harmless ones, that will help me get there.

"This isn't going to work. I think you should go back to New Bark Town, where you'll be safe and comfortable."

She leaps at me and latches onto my leg, shaking her head. "You never learn your lesson," I say, but she persists. And every time, I think of the silver brooch jingling around her neck and I relent.

"You can only stay if you fight. Even your teammates, if I order you. Okay?"

When she nods this eagerly, I can't tell if she actually accepts or agrees, or if she's just learned how to get her way. Belle may be the best of the three siblings at perceiving human emotion, but recognition isn't the same as understanding.

"Happy now?" She begins fiddling with my jeans again, and I can't withhold an exasperated sigh. "You were even making progress, for a while, but then you refused to battle other Pokemon again. What happened?"

A wave of emotions throb through my skull. I clutch my ears and drop to the floor. When my eyes open, Belle's wincing as well.

"Did you feel that, too?" There could only be one source. I'm about to get up and walk toward the egg, but Belle leaps to her feet first and stands in my way. "Still?"

She looks up, directly at me, and challenges me to stare back. I dig into her expression, into her eyes. And this time, I admit that I know what Belle is bothered about.

#

The air is cold and still after my brother's name exits Elm's mouth. I wait for him to continue, or for Belle to splash in the pool, but time and motion suspend in the courtyard until I respond. The words squeeze through my throat in a whisper, like my vocal cords have been torn in half.

"How did you find out about that?"

"Karen told me about Sprout Tower," Elm says. "She explained your situation and history when she summoned me for questioning, about how you joined my lab."

"But I didn't mention his name."

"I reached out to Professor Oak for that. I realized you were a refugee, but everything else? Is there a reason you never told me, Daisy?" His voice trembles at the end, in a struggle over the name. It's more pronounced than had he simply said Leah by mistake.

My chest rises and falls, but an answer doesn't come. A turbulence swirls inside, unable to locate my lungs. I close my eyes and inhale, focus on the empty space expanding, and summon the strength to carry words along my breath.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think it would help," I say. "This meeting—are these questions that Karen assigned you?"

"No, I'm the one who wants to know," Elm says. "Because I can help. And others can, too. You're not the only one trying to find a Kanto family member and rescue them from the war. The Pokemon League offers resources and programs you have access to, now that we know you're a Johto citizen."

He gives me a few seconds, to take this in or to interject, before he goes on. "And maybe you saw that and walked away because of the costs, but that's why you should've told me! I'll fund it! You certainly deserve that, considering how much I've had to underpay you. And this way, you can come back to the lab. And you'll be given a raise, and promoted, of course, now that you have proof of citizenship. And maybe I'm not the most important scientist in the Pokemon League, but I can call in a favor or two.

"Sorry, this is a lot at once, but what I'm trying to say is that there are easier ways to find your brother than forcing yourself to become a trainer and marching off to war. Your citizenship has opened so many opportunities, for your search and for your science career. You don't have to give the latter up. You can search for him, and you can return to New Bark Town. Both. And I'm there to help."

Again my muscles contract, and the cavity insides me grows to suck in the air. I hold myself, and dwell for a second, before letting go. He waits for my reply with eager anticipation, like he's about to flip to the final page of a happy ending.

"Thank you, but this is the only way to find him."

An autumn breeze swoops down on my neck, and my shoulders start to shiver. All around us, leaves stir awake in a chorus of drowsy murmurs. "Sorry, it's getting late," I say. I call out to Belle, announcing that it's time to go.

"Were you that unhappy, working in my lab?" Elm asks.

#

The egg rested on the table when it happened, but the sensation leaves no doubt. That was the first pulse it sent without physical contact. I lay across the couch to ponder the implications, and for a moment, my thoughts turn to someone who would want to hear my theory, until I finally drift to sleep. When the nurse wakes me in the morning, Belle is curled against my knees.

There's still a decision to make, because training six Pokemon and caring for an egg is pushing myself too far. Isadora and Nina were responsible for the fight. Belle disobeyed when ordered to stop it. But power matters more than anything else, and Aris, my Spinarak, has been falling behind. It's his Pokeball that I place on the counter and sign the storage paperwork for.

Once that's taken care of, I can't stall any longer.

In my Pokemon Center bedroom, Belle watches me dial the number. My heart pounds with every phone ring. It's on the fifth cycle, about to cut to voicemail, when words crackle through the speaker. "Hello?"

"Hello, Professor Elm. It's Daisy."

"It's good to hear from you, Daisy." It's still strange to hear in his voice. His tone is strained and cloudy, but this time it's for every word and not just my name. "How are you doing?"

"Fine. And you?"

"Good, good."

I glance at Belle, as if hoping for suggestions on what to say next. Her stare beams down on me with frustration and expectation.

"So I wanted to tell you," I say, "that the egg can now communicate without directly touching me. And with other Pokemon, too. And the reason, I think, is that it might be using Extrasensory."

"Extrasensory? That's the move where the opponent's mind is twisted into fear and panic, correct?" I can hear Elm rummaging through his bookshelves for a paper or textbook. "There's a lot of similarities, I agree, especially if there's no physical requirement like we originally believed. But I've never heard of Extrasensory inflicting positive emotion."

"I thought it was strange as well."

With more worry, he adds, "You don't think it's trying to attack you, is it?"

"No, it must be a new use. We might have to rework our assumptions."

"Well, I'm not an expert in Pokemon moves, but I can talk to one of my colleagues about collaborating on an experiment. Thank you for telling me. You'll be given first authorship, of course, if we prove your hypothesis."

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

"Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?"

There's a pause as I deliberate what to say. A deep breath and hesitation. "A fight broke out between my Pokemon. It got so out of hand—my Gastly cast a Curse on my Wooper."

Elm mumbles a few explanations to himself as he debates each one's likelihood. He speaks clearly after arriving at an answer. "I suspect the Gastly's been eating your other Pokemon's dreams whenever they've slept outside of their balls, and the Wooper didn't take that kindly. Have most of them looked weary, lately?"

"Yes. That's exactly what happened." Oswald's shedding feathers and Damian's lethargic movements replay before my eyes. "But then, why did only one Pokemon attack? Why not the others?"

"Was the Wooper a newcomer? Your older Pokemon must be well-tamed. They probably think the dream-eating was something you intended, so they didn't object."

Whenever Nina approached, Belle dashed away each time. I crouch beside the Chikorita and for the first time, notice the dark shading beneath her eyes. Well-tamed—the word repeats in my brain. My hands skim across the brooch hanging from her neck, and I think again about my fingers curled around the Pokeball's knob.

"It's hard to wean a Ghost-type off a dream-based diet, but it's possible," Elm says. "You must have been affected, too. Are you having sporadic trouble sleeping?"

"That must be why. Thank you." I don't mention that I've been struggling with insomnia every night, even when Nina's leashed inside her Pokeball.

As the room falls silent, I check Belle's face. Not satisfied yet. She can only hear my half of the conversation, but I'm beginning to accept that she's smart enough to understand.

"It was nice talking to you," Elm says.

"Wait, Professor." Belle perks up and listens intently. "Thank you for the offer. I'll—I'll think about it. If things don't work out, I'll let you know. About being a trainer, and about coming back."

"I'm glad to hear it." A fog lifts from his voice, and his familiar energy peeks through. "You're always welcome in my lab, Daisy," he says, hanging up.

"Happy now?" I ask as Belle cuddles against my lap.

I understand Elm's point. It's not like I haven't thought about it before—but where else is there to go? I can hop from one train to the next if I don't think I'll reach my destination, but I can't control the direction of tracks.

#

"No, the lab was fine. I wasn't unhappy," I tell Elm that night in Violet City. "I just—training is what I have to do."

"You have to be honest," he says. "If it's my fault, if I'm doing something wrong in my lab that has to be fixed, I need to know."

"It's not that." Belle slides between us, clinging to my leg. Her paw presses against my shin, and I shake it loose. "I just don't like working with Pokemon. That's all."

"Oh." Elm scratches his scalp and bites his lip. He starts and stops speaking several times, searching for a sentence. "Why is that?"

He asks because he's the lead scientific investigator in a state-of-the-art laboratory, snugly tucked away from the stomping grounds of wild Pokemon or those captured for battle. He asks because he outranks the League trainers that occupy his town for its security, not the other way around. He asks because he's never experienced the answer, because there's no way to explain so that he can comprehend.

"I had a bad experience as a kid, and I grew up afraid of them," I say. "That's all."

"So you're going to join the Pokemon League," Elm says, his voice crescendoing to a high shrill I've never heard before, "and train and battle with them every day of your life? This is what you want? Really?" I nod.

Belle yelps and scurries away as Elm's hands swing behind his head. "I don't get it," he says. "You worked in my lab for two years, and I never had so much of an inkling that you didn't like Pokemon. You've never said anything about it until now. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to bring it up. I needed the work."

"But it's not just that." He paces around muttering to himself, in the way he does to pick a hypothesis. He searches for his words and when he finds them, he's standing beneath the lamp and I've drifted poolside.

He's angry, in the light.

"You come back after that theft incident, and the first thing you tell me is that you want to leave the laboratory? I knew you wanted better pay, but to run off like that? And now—now I learn you're Professor Oak's missing daughter? That you've hated Pokemon this whole time? Have you ever told me the truth about anything, Daisy?"

The Chikorita returns, rolling the ball back to Elm. He pets her one last time before gently nudging her in my direction.

"As long as this is what you want," Elm says. "As long as you're happy. It's okay if you can't be honest with me. But, I just hope that you're being honest with yourself." He turns his back and exits the courtyard, while I stand there in the dark.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Her leaf rises. For a second it crests, grazing against the moonlight, before it drifts along the ebb of Belle's breath to veil her sleeping face. It lifts again, and a silver glow washes over her head. The sway of her stem, and the tremors of air around her mouth, ripple through the bedroom in waves, crashing and breaking and echoing against the walls, their roar unimpeded in the absence of the world's other voices, all of them swallowed by the dark. And the rhythm of this dance persists for hours until a sharp gasp signals change. Her body shifts. Her breath quickens. Her leaf lurches, blown along the staggered gusts.

She must be dreaming now.

Oswald's other wing twitches, searching for the Spinarak once tucked below, but his brow doesn't crease. Damian rocks along the wall at a cradle's pace, arms loose and no longer quaking. Everyone's sleep is recovering after five nights, except mine.

My hand stretches, from the mattress toward the bedside table, and brushes against Isadora's capsule. Almost a week has passed. It should be safe. My fingers trace the dial.

Elm said they believed the dream-eating was part of their training. The Wooper—all of my Pokemon—hold me responsible. And they all watched the pain, and resentment, spread across my Gastly's face when I turned the knob, but it was a dangerous situation; there was nothing I could've done differently.

I shove Isadora's Pokeball inside the nightstand drawer, where it rattles next to Nina's. Belle's leaf continues to undulate, and her breath sweeps through the room uninterrupted.

When the silver rays broaden through the room and begin to yellow, I recall my Pokemon and pack away the egg. I'm supposed to check the Union Cave waitlist at dawn, but I don't leave the room. I'm supposed to resume training today, but I don't leave my bed.

I lie there until noon, until a pounding erupts against the door. The trainer standing outside taps her feet as she looks me over.

"You're Daisy, right? My name's Liz. I'll be your escort through Union Cave."

#

An Onix coils around the cavern mouth in a stance meant for guarding eggs. Its tail looms in the sky, ready to crash down. When its trainer barks an order to let Liz and I through, the chain of boulders slithers up the mountainside, but the white slits in that head leer and a deep hiss vibrates in the air. I glance at the two Poliwhirl stationed along the road before taking my next step. I hold my breath and don't let go and never look up, not until I pass through the entrance of Union Cave.

The glow of the Pokemon League's Magnemite and Chinchou bathes the interior. Clouds of Zubat flitter around in tangled paths, lost in the light. Liz's Nidorina swats them away, and in soft plops, like the sound of water dripping off stalactites, their bodies echo against the floor.

"You're headed for the gym, right?" Liz asks as our footsteps hum throughout the cavern. "Of course you are. That's the only reason anyone would come to Azalea. Which badge?"

"My second." Words feel foreign as they slide through my throat. Since leaving Violet City, I've only spoken face-to-face with nurses and Pokemon.

"Lucky you. They've got anyone challenging for their third badge or higher doing shifts in Union Cave while we wait on the gym leader. That's why I'm stuck here; I came for badge five."

Trainers around us examine limestone walls and murky pools for hidden passageways, while others check wild Slowpoke for their tails. I remember hearing about Team Rocket in Kanto, but I didn't know they held bases in Johto, too, until I was moved here at the start of the war. In the confines of Professor Oak's laboratory they had been a distant tale, well beyond the horizon.

"I guess working's better than holing up in Azalea," Liz says. "I go visit on my days off, but there's not much to do. It's such a dull town—or maybe I'm just a city gal. But you know what stinks about it, and I mean literally stinks?"

I bite the inside of my lip, but my hesitation doesn't deter her from pressing on. "Charcoal. I heard it was supposed to be beautiful, this big tourist hotspot, at this time of the year. Berry picking, perfume sales, a fishing creek." She folds her arms and pouts. "Not my first choices for fun, but it'd beat watching all these oafs chop wood and choking the place with smoke. The heat kills me. It's like summer doesn't leave the south."

"There's a drought. If the apricorns aren't growing, they have to make a living some way."

"Well, sure, but it's still bad timing," she says, reaching into her backpack. "Look at all this money I brought for present shopping. What kind of souvenirs am I going to bring back to my family now? Charcoal?"

The bag jingles as she waves it around, and even after she puts it away, the sound lingers, ringing. Zubat chase after the scattered vibrations with the fervor of a hunt.

Later on, she asks, "Do you think you're going to take a break after this badge? Me, I can't wait to get back to Goldenrod and unwind. Violet City was nice, but I'm ready to go back home."

"A break," I repeat. I hear it echo against the walls. It's a word I say all the time. Take a break, Belle. Take a break, Oswald. Break's over, Damian. But this time, the word break creaks and wobbles in my mouth.

"It's exhausting, right? I got my first three badges with no time off in between. Huge mistake. You should rest after every two, I think. But I'll be pretty happy with my career opportunities after five, so this is going to be the final one for me before I start working in Goldenrod Gym for good. After a quick vacation to celebrate, of course."

There's a difference between the trainers groomed to serve their hometown gym and outsiders to the League, trying to get by. Even among those with Pokemon, there's a hierarchy.

We leave the cavern's electric gleam and on Route 33, return to daylight. We pass loggers and Farfetch'd, hacking away at withered trees, and we pass charcoal kilns parching the air to a crisp. With autumn leaves alight on the ground, it's like walking through a blaze—into Azalea, a wilting town of smoke and bark. Smog blankets the town and traps the drought inside.

"Let's train together the next time I have a break, Daisy! I mean, there's nothing else to do, right? We've both got gym battles to prepare for."

The Pokemon Center informs me that gym challenges won't open again for several weeks. There's a lot of waiting, empty time, as a trainer. Time that's meant for practice, but I slump onto my new bed, idly rolling the egg and staring at the ceiling. I wait for my eyelids to close, and they don't.

The two exits out of Azalea Town are a tunnel in which living rocks ambush their prey, and a forest of bugs and weeds that shed toxic dust. Only those with Pokemon have the means to cross in and out. Most of the residents live here under the shelter of their gym, from birth to death.

#

A few days later, a nurse summons me from my lodging and brings me to a mauve-haired man sitting in the Pokemon Center lobby. Without warning, he grabs my hand with both of his and shakes them vigorously, beaming. "I'm Bugsy, leader and Principal Research Director of the Azalea Gym," he says. I recognize his voice, his frantic pleading from Sprout Tower. "You're Daisy Oak, correct? Or rather, I should say, it's excellent to finally meet you, Leah Aurel."

He leads me west, across Azalea. Children playing, kicking dust in the streets, are tugged aside by the whispers of their parents as our footsteps wander by. Their eyes needle into the capsules dangling from our belts, but even if we hide them, people will spot the truth. I know—there's a difference in the way trainers stand and walk.

"I have to thank you and Professor Elm for that paper on Steel-type evolutions you published," Bugsy says. "Before it came out, I was trying to force Scyther-Scizor transitions through Oak's proposal of rapid bone tissue development, to no success. It was your work on emergent carbon lattice structures that allowed me to develop and patent a new evolution induction technology, the Metal Coat."

"Professor Elm was thrilled to see you apply our theory so soon," I say. "I've read about the basic principles of the Metal Coat's design, but I don't know all of the technicalities." Bugsy launches into a detailed explanation, and I ask all the questions he wants to answer.

We reach the edge of town, where the main road forks; an elderly man dressed similar to Falkner stoops at the pathway's split. "Who's she?" he asks as we draw closer. "Here to deliver a report on Union Cave? Let me guess: nothing, as usual?"

Bugsy scratches the back of his neck and smiles an apology to me. "Sorry, just give me a minute to talk to Kurt."

"I'll prove it," the man says. "Give me one day in the well, to tag a few Slowpoke. That's all ask."

"We already swept through the well at the beginning of the search, and we found zero evidence of Team Rocket or injured Slowpoke. There's no reason for us to tamper with that ecosystem further, not when all the intel—" Kurt stamps his cane into the ground; Bugsy clears his throat. "—not when all reliable intel that I've received points to a base in Union Cave."

"Forget the League's reports. There are other signs. You're acting on orders when you should be acting with your brain."

"You should relax. Take care of your back. Didn't you retire because you wanted to rest?"

The wind rises, and Kurt leans on his cane as he lumbers off, along the right side of the fork, vanishing amidst an inferno of leaves.

"Let's continue talking about science, shall we?" Bugsy says.

We take the left path, into the forest. As we head deeper into the woods, the trees line around us in rows, the gaps between them shrinking until they merge into the halls of a maze. From the turns we don't take, I can hear a buzz, lurking in the dark.

At the end lies a mesh of greenhouses crisscrossed together. Cocoons hang from tree branches, soaking in the sunlight, from inside the cage of steel and glass.

"Welcome to Ilex Research Industries, also known as Azalea Gym."

It's warm and humid inside the building. Ledyba nibble on the leaves of flowering apricorn trees, and Heracross latch onto the trunks, sucking nectar from the bark. The drought—shriveled fruit, brittle wood, paper grass—is absent from the interior.

"The irrigation system swallowed up most of this year's funding," Bugsy says. He waves at everyone that we stroll by, and all of them bow in return.

"Like your mentor, I study Pokemon evolution. But while Elm goes for breadth, I've honed in on Bug-types as a model system to unravel an evolutionary blueprint." A woman wearing an armored vest pushes a wagon of creates, labeled explosive, toward the Pineco chamber. Another stocks a refrigerator with racks of powdered poisons. "Evolution happens much faster, and more simply, for Bug-types than for others, so the fundamental properties are easier to see."

We continue to walk, into another greenhouse. Bugsy points in every direction and elaborates on every experiment. I expect a debriefing, a continuation of the Sprout Tower meeting, but it seems he invited me for a lab tour.

"Will we have a gym battle today?" I ask.

"I'm sorry, not for several weeks. There's been no time for challenges, or even my own research. My hands are tied until I can pass command of this Rocket hunt back onto Falkner."

"That man, Kurt, what was he referring to? About the well, Team Rocket, and other signs?"

"It's an outlandish request, going into the well. You've seen how bad the drought is. I don't want to disturb the Slowpoke down there and risk making it worse."

Leaves glisten, embroidered with dew. The velvet mist from the sprinklers descends onto my skin.

"I brought you here because I'm a big fan of your work, Leah. Or, sorry, you said you prefer Daisy? Well, Daisy, I want you to know that the doors to Ilex Research Industries are always open to you. Whatever science you want to do here, I'll sign off. I'm not asking for authorship or credit, either. Just knowing that a brain like yours has the resources to pursue the universe's truths would ease my mind."

"He must think the drought and the Slowpoke are already connected," I say.

"The League's ruled out that possibility, because the logistics of a Rocket operation in the well are near impossible. But I'm glad you're curious. After all, this laboratory is meant for exploring questions."

We stop by a cluster of scientists huddled against their lab benches. There's one row at the end left unoccupied.

"Your very own workspace," Bugsy say, "if you want it."

The humidity around my neck and my arms congests, into beads of sweat.

"I'm sorry, but I left research. To become a trainer."

"To find your brother, right?" His face is sympathetic, as if to say he understands. "A noble cause. But it saddens me, how science is hurt by the war, and how great minds like yours are lost. That's why I'm here to help, to give you the opportunity to become the scientist you aspire to be. You'll always be welcome in this gym as a fellow researcher, Daisy."

It's a well-stocked lab bench, and the resin surface is polished and pristine. I can look down at my face, into a mirror tinted black.

I want to swipe at the test tubes, dump acid over it. Melt the countertop until my reflection vanishes.

#

"You're all work and no play." Liz loathes training outdoors, so we spar in the center's enclosed field, tiled with grassy mats. The air here is chilled and sterile.

In their first practice session since the incident, my Pokemon brim with energy. Liz's Pokemon attack gently, careful not to overwhelm them in battle. Oswald flies around, dodging the Weepinbell's vines, while the Nidorino's horn probes Damian for cracks in his exterior. Belle fights against the Nidorina with newfound resolve, though she still squeals when her Razor Leaf draws a trickle of blood.

She's trying, I know, when she flinches from a headbutt or tumbles to the ground after a kick. She stands up, panting and sweating, and dives back into the fray. But trying isn't the same as good enough for a real battle.

When Belle's turn ends, I palm my blue-stickered Pokeball, thumbs hovering above the button. In the presence of a Weepinbell, it should be safe to let Isadora out. I press. The Wooper emerges, hears my orders, and chases after her opponent with spurts of water, obedient, none of the attacks straying in my direction.

"What about that one?" Liz asks, pointing to the ball with a purple dot. I don't answer, tending to my Chikorita.

Protect yourself, overcome adversity, and learn to improvise. That was Falkner's advice for future battles, but I'm not sure how to follow it in such controlled practice conditions, or how to demonstrate that I've implemented it during my upcoming gym fight. Belle's no closer to overcoming her weaknesses than Nina is to fasting off dreams. One badge into the journey, and it already feels like I'm approaching dead ends.

"Hello, Daisy? Are you there, Daisy?" Liz waves her hands in front of my face. "You're so out of it. I bet it's your training routine, you know? You'll burn out real fast if you keep up like this. Lighten up, it's just a gym badge."

She blows a whistle and her Pokemon line up for recall; it's her way of forcing a break on me as well. When everyone's inside of their Pokeballs, she spreads across the turf and yawns.

"Speaking of badges," she says, "I've decided my fifth can wait. I've been away from home long enough. I'm going to leave Azalea and head to Goldenrod, tomorrow." She flips onto her stomach, craning her neck toward where I stand. "You should think about doing the same, okay? You look exhausted all the time."

"It's different." I shuffle my feet to a new location, to an angle at which I can't be seen. "I don't have a big city or an established gym to go back to. And for me, the badges are more than a promotion. I can't just wait. There are reasons I need to keep going forward."

Lizz rolls onto her back again and stares at the ceiling. I look up as well. It's glass; so we can view the sky through it, but it's difficult to say whether the haze is made of clouds or smoke.

"This might surprise you," Liz says, "but you remind me of myself, during my first three badges. I was ambitious, too, back then."

We watch a darker wisp drift by that must be smog, because right now, in southern Johto, rain clouds don't exist. She goes on after it's passed out of sight.

"I wanted eight badges, a career as a top-level agent, and a climb up the Pokemon League ladder. My big dream was to qualify for gym leadership and start one in my grandma's village. That way, I could upgrade the protections against wild Pokemon and lower the taxes. Kind of like the cushy deal they have here in Azalea, even though it's a small town. But it's hard to keep going. It's not that I'm lazy, or that I want to give up, or that I'd rather serve in Goldenrod Gym's militia. It's just—I'm tired."

She jolts up. "Don't you feel that way, too? I can see it all over your face."

Some days it's easy to forget about Blue, when the daily focus is on getting by.

"Sorry, I keep talking about myself. You know, Daisy, I feel like you've gotten to know me pretty well, but I barely know anything about you. Tell me, is there that big of a difference, between the two of us?"

#

The right half of Azalea's western fork changes, from dirt to gravel to brick, as it winds its way to a cabin porch. I knock, and when the door opens, my head tilts down at a pigtailed child who yells, "Grandpa! You have a guest!", tugging at my arm to drag me in. She leads me to a pair of cushions and invites me to look around while I wait.

In this room, there's only the carpet, the cushions, and against the far wall a bench. Half of the table is cluttered with soldering irons, wires, and switches, while the other half is littered with hammers, knives, and bowls of apricorn peels.

The old man from before, Kurt, limps down a staircase. The child holds his waist as he bends down to sit, his cane clattering to the floor. Our eyes meet, and I can feel him deliberating whether to request that I leave.

"It's a beautiful day, Maizie," he says. "Why don't you go outside and play with your Slowpoke?" She takes a Pokeball from his outstretched palm and skips through the door. Kurt watches it squeak shut before his attention returns to me.

"I remember you. What are you here for? Pokeballs?" he asks, massaging the wrinkles in his face.

I review the words in my head before I begin, and take a deep breath. "I'm here to ask why, how, you're sure about Team Rocket in Slowpoke Well. You must think it's connected to southern Johto's drought?"

"The drought is worst here, in this town," Kurt says. "It makes sense that the Slowpoke of the well, rather than of Union Cave, are at risk."

"But how sure are you? Is there anything else? Bugsy said they searched the place, so why didn't they find Team Rocket?"

Kurt's arms shift, digging into his robe's sleeves. "There is an explanation," he says, leaning forward, "but why do you want to know?"

"I think I can help. But I want to be sure."

Mazie's voice wafts through the window, and Kurt closes his eyes, listening to her laughter. When she begins to sing, he hums an accompaniment until it's over.

"Too many Slowbro have crawled around Azalea lately. They must be coming from the well, the damage to their tails hidden by evolution. I don't know how Team Rocket is doing it, but they're forcing them to evolve at an unnaturally fast rate.

"And I received a tip, about how Team Rocket's snuck around unnoticed," Kurt continues. "The boy was probably an ex-Rocket—maybe that's why he came to me instead of the gym or the Pokemon League. They're using Abra to teleport in and out. Bugsy doesn't believe me, because it would mean they broke in by other means first, to train an Abra to memorize the location. But everything else fits. I could prove the boy right, if Bugsy would let me."

"I can get you access."

Suspicion flares across his face, with a stare that pierces through me. But he gazes far off, into another place and time, and what he sees must cause him to soften.

"What's in it for you?" Kurt asks. "I don't think League sent you down here to fight the drought. You strike me as a trainer that's just passing through."

"I don't want to be like the rest." The room is hot, but my body begins to shiver. "Will it be safe to go in? What if they're already there?"

"I just need a couple hours, to mark a few Slowpoke with a special ink I've prepared. If it comes to a fight, I'm more than capable of protecting myself. You won't have to go inside." His back crackles as it straightens, and his face smoothens by ten years. Two Pokeballs roll onto the carpet from inside his sleeves. "Had you been a Rocket spy, your attack would've failed. I used to be the leader of Azalea Gym."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**  

"I'm here to do fieldwork, on behalf of Ilex Research Industries," I say, handing the guard a letter. He unfolds the paper and squints at the writing. "It's to collect some King's Rocks. To study how its natural composition compares to the Metal Coat's design. You can see Bugsy's signature, over there."

A penlight shines on the gym leader's handwritten scrawl. The trainer says, "That's his ink, alright. If the big boss himself gives you permission, I guess I can't complain. But why's that old man with you, too? You got an explanation for that? I don't see his name anywhere in this message."

"No one expects her to find a King's Rock when she's never been in the well," Kurt says. "She may be the scientist, but I'll do the dirty work."

The guard gives both of us a lookover and we wait, while he rereads the letter two, three, and four more times. I glance at Kurt, but his expression is stern, unworried. There's no wind, rustling through the leaves, or Pidgey, chirping amongst the branches, to break the long silence.

"I'm going to check with the boss when I'm off my shift," the guard says at last. "But you know what? Go ahead, as long as it's the both of you together down there."

"Oh, only Kurt brought spelunking gear—"

"We've got spare suits of all sizes in that shed on your right. Stay with the old man and make sure he doesn't do anything suspicious, yeah? He's your responsibility while I'm on my lunch break."

As the trainer saunters off, I whisper to Kurt, "He's going to tell Bugsy. Are you sure about this?"

"If you get in trouble, tell Bugsy's lackeys that I threatened you, and you had no choice. They'll believe it. Put on a suit and let's hurry."

A ladder rises from the pit, like a hand grasping for the sun. The scorched Azalea air dampens and chills the deeper we descend. A chorus of sighs sway around us in an unceasing chant. At the bottom, my legs thrust into knee-deep water, and the splashes echo off the walls, up the well, toward the white disc that remains of the sky.

A pair of Slowbro and a Slowpoke poke their heads out with mouths agape. One exhales in an extended, lethargic yawn. "Keep your mouth closed and don't do it back," Kurt says, ushering me past them.

"Aren't you going to tag that Slowpoke?" I ask.

"No, this is just the entryway. They'll be operating deeper." He flips on our headlamps, illuminating a half sunken tunnel.

We crawl. Kurt goes first. The walls are jagged, covered in rocky thorns. My hands replace my eyes, and the rough, moist stones replace the light. When he comes to a halt, Kurt announces we've reached the exit. "Squeeze through, hold your breath. The water level's waist high." I hear him wriggle, gravel shifting, and then the sound of a full body flop breaking into a pool. "Your turn." I shove out of the hole, fall through the air and—

Skin stung. Ears swallowed. Eyelids sealed, to enclose the abyss. My feet discover rock and push and I breach above the surface and suck in my breath.

The beams from our helmets are a thin scratch to the dark. We wade through until we reach land, where water crashes down from our wetsuits in a rainpour.

"It needs to be brighter," Kurt says. An eruption of white from two of his Pokeballs snapshot the cave: Slowpoke drifting along the lake; Zubat dangling from the ceiling. As the black returns, a Slowbro and Exeggutor thump onto the ground. "Flash." Two wispy beacons spark in front of his Pokemon, igniting our patch of rock into a bubble of daytime.

Kurt reaches into his backpack and withdraws two ink bottles and brushes. "Let me show you how to do this," he says, then stops.

From deep within the cave, far away in the darkness, a breeze blows. It ripples through my hair as Kurt turns toward the direction of its source. The wind comes in beats. It swells into a noise: the flutter of wings.

Kurt barks, "Cover your ears!"

"Wh—"

A shriek stabs through the air and bangs inside my skull. My shoulder, spine, then shoulder again tumble against the rocks and I can't tell whether I'm spinning or the ground.

Kurt squeezes my forearms and the whirling halts. "Run, get back to the entrance," he says, his words muffled under the rush of blood pumping through my ears. "I'll guard the way."

"But what if they come after me?" At the threshold of our light, the outline of a Golbat glimmers.

Kurt's Jynx emerges at his side. "She'll Mean Look the Golbat. You'll be safe. Go!" He pulls me up and shoves and an icy embrace wraps around my ankles, then my legs, numbing the pain as I limp forward. Several voices ricochet off the walls. Thousands of wings flap above us as the Zubat slumbering inside Slowpoke Well awaken. I can hear Kurt clamoring for me to turn off the headlamp, or else I'll be followed, and my hands scramble for the switch.

The cacophony of a Pokemon battle flares behind me—the air shreds, a stream of water gushes by, and the cave roars as if threatening to collapse. I push through the lake and don't turn back toward the skirmish, while frantic splashes rumble from afar.

A man hollers, "Supersonic!"

The scream avalanches through my head and I crumble underwater. Sinking, drowning, gasping as my head breaks above the shallows before I trip again and plunge, submerged, into half of the world where the screeching is muted, and I heave upward, and forward, and my arms paddle and flail, swimming through the void until they bang into the sturdy, mossy surface of a wall. But there's no tunnel. My fingers clutch the rocks, but I can't feel the hole.

The voice yells for backup, and a second urges a hunt for the girl. Light flashes from behind me as Pokemon are dispatched.

Empty space slips through my palms, but when they move forward, my knuckles crash against a boulder. Blood mixes with mold and slime. It's an indentation, not the way out. Wings thrash behind me, almost here.

"Oswald!" I fumble his Pokeball as it's yanked off my belt; I lunge for it before it swims away. I jam the capsule button and the white burst blinds me and someone shouts in excitement. The flash gave away my location, but it's too late. I can barely see Oswald but I hear his hoots, requesting directive.

"There's a Zubat coming! Help me! Attack it!"

A shrill cry pierces the air. Oswald takes off—a thud as two bodies collide mid-air. The flurry of feather and wings reaches my ears, but the battle is cloaked behind the dark. A squeak of pain from the Zubat, I think, but I'm not sure. "Hypnosis!" I yell, but the commotion persists.

Footsteps kicking through the water remind me to keep moving. I have to move. I have to escape. My hands scramble across the stones in search of the tunnel, and it's not there. It's still not there. Was this the wrong direction?

Pain wails from somewhere—from the voice of my Hoothoot—and "Oswald!" I call several times, as the howling grows louder. "Oswald, where are you? Come back!" Frantic hooting, but he doesn't return.

I snap a Pokeball off my belt, but my fingers brake before I press the knob. There's no land for Damian. I rummage across the wall, for any rock that juts out, large enough for the Geodude to perch on top. Nothing. The howling grows louder.

My hands reach, shaking, for another pair of Pokeballs, and grip. There's two others that can see through pitch-black.

The noxious fumes of my Gastly waft through the air, and droplets spray my eyes as my Wooper hits the lake. "Stop, don't fight!" I shout amidst their snarls. A shot of water fires, and my thumb slams down the button on Isadora's capsule. My fingers prepare to wrap around the dial on Nina's, but she calms down once the Wooper's recalled.

"Nina, help Oswald," I say, pointing blindly in the dark, and her scent whooshes past me before I can finish my instructions. I beg to her, to the dark, to bring both of them back.

In the distance, two bright pinholes flicker on, their rays latching onto my torso. They pursue like floodlights as I move along the wall. The tunnel's not there. I still can't find it. The two yellow circles gradually enlarge.

"Oswald, Nina, where are you?"

A gust blows across my face, accompanied by the sound of flapping wings. My head huddles against the warmth of Oswald's body, and my hand runs through his bloody, ruffled feathers.

"Stand by me," I say. "Stand guard and don't get too far away. Only fight anything or anyone that comes closer. But where's Nina?" He hoots several times, but I don't understand.

A screech of agony. One of the flashlights waves around, until it shines on a Zubat and my Gastly. She spins around and weaves her Curse on the target's convulsing body. Someone shouts at a Pokemon to attack.

From beneath the water's surface, an Ekans lunges, fangs dazzling as it crosses into the incandescent shaft. It chomps onto Nina, and tears. Her purple gases disperse. Her black center plummets.

A splash.

"Nina!"

Silence. Stillness.

My pleas, my orders, my screams of her name reflect off the walls and reverberate through the cave, but Nina doesn't respond.

Kurt's voice fights its way into the echoes: "You're still there? Get out of here already!"

"I can't!" I sob, into the dark. "I can't see, I can't get out!"

Zubat chitter all around, lurking. Two yellow beams pin my body against the wall. My heart pounds in my chest, and words choke inside my throat. I don't know what attacks or decisions to give Oswald as I clutch Belle's Pokeball and sink into the water.

Nearby, a speck of brightness kindles. It expands into a ball, until it reveals the exit. Then the radiance breaks free, Ledyba and Ledian swarming through like lanterns to wash the well in light, and a red blur crashes into the cave, the white glow glittering off the Scizor's steel skin. Bugsy and several trainers behind him crawl out of the tunnel.

A voice commands a retreat, and Bugsy calls out for Spider Webs, as Abra and Spinarak emerge from their Pokeballs. A whirring noise crescendos, but as silk fibers spray across the cave, the air stiffens and the buzzing fizzles. One trainer vanishes while the rest remain stuck. The spider Pokemon round up the Rockets with their strings, and for the first time I have a clear sight of the black suits emblazoned with a red R.

Bugsy and Kurt meet where I've sagged beneath the lake's surface. "You're safe now," the first says to me.

"You answered my distress call," Kurt says. "I thought you would've thrown away the pager by now."

"I have a duty to my people. How should we proceed?"

"There's a lot of questions to answer: how they initially broke in, and the forced evolutions. But first, they ambushed us, as if they were prepared. The guard in front of the well—I think he's a mole. We need to catch him before he escapes town."

I wade toward Nina, toward where she floats. A chunk is gone. Black sludge pools around her. I try using her capsule, but it won't open. I try to lift her body, but my hands phase through unobstructed. She lays there, oozing.

Oswald's talons brush against my shoulder, and I shake him off, yelling, "Get away!" as I grab his Pokeball to return him. But it slips through my fingers and splashes by my thighs. I slump down, kneeling by Nina's body. I kneel alone, as more trainers flood into Slowpoke Well.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

I can't. My fingers tremble above Isadora's Pokeball, but won't wrap around it. I know I should—Bugsy's watching from the sidelines—but I can't. Across the battlefield, a Scyther leers and waits. My hand drifts toward the front of my belt, and my eyes shut out the flash of light as my Geodude emerges.

The Scyther lunges.

It's over in a few seconds—before my throat squeezes out an order, before my knees stop quivering, before my eyes open to survey the battlefield. Crumpled wings and cracked blades. The corpse lying next to a bed of rocks. Damian sits there, his hands kneading dirt into another pair of stones, untouched.

"You've raised your Geodude well," Bugsy says, walking over to deliver my badge. "But you can't rely on type advantage for everything. There's more skill in battling than that."

"I'm sorry," I say, repeating myself. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Are you sure you want to join the military?" Maintenance workers heave the Scyther's body onto a cart. "You'll always have a place in my lab, if you change your mind."

"I'll think about it." But he can tell from the sound of my voice that I'm lying.

#

It's raining in Azalea. It's rained every day, since Team Rocket retreated from Slowpoke Well. A gentle mist has replaced the smoke enveloping the town, and walking from the gym, I pass children splashing in the puddles, laughing in the mud, poking at the Slowpoke ambling along the roads. I pass through the celebrations unnoticed, on my way to the cemetery.

It's a graveyard for humans, not Pokemon. None of the tombstones belong to people I know. So it's dumb, senseless to come, but I huddle beneath a willow tree, sit on the roots, and linger.

I listen to the ground sink below water.

An hour later, the gate creaks and footsteps tap against cobblestone. I prepare to leave, until I turn and see Kurt hobbling in my direction.

Rain drips down the ends of his hair. There's room for both of us underneath the umbrella of leaves, but his feet don't cross onto the grass.

"I'm here to thank you for your help," he says. "And to apologize. I endangered you, and failed to keep you safe. It was reckless."

"It's fine. We're both alive."

"Please, take these, as repayment." From his sleeves, Kurt draws a set of Pokeballs with gray tops. "With these, you can transport dead Pokemon, and take them to a proper burial ground. Maizie's spotted you coming here every day, so I made them myself. It's been a long time since I saw a trainer grieving for their Pokemon."

"No, that's not it," I say. There's six of the coffins, resting in his palms. "This is a human cemetery."

"Then let's go to one for Pokemon. Come."

He walks away and doesn't look back to check whether I follow.

But I do. I follow him through Azalea, trailing behind his footprints as they brim with water. No words pass between us, every sound but the drizzle washed away; we move in silence, until we reach his house. We walk around it, to the backyard, where a single mound of dirt rises from the grass.

"This is the Pokemon cemetery," Kurt says.

"There's only one grave."

"And now there'll be two." He offers one of the gray Pokeballs, droplets beading along its surface. "Your Gastly's inside. I sent a trainer to the well to pick her up."

"I don't want to bury her," I say. I don't want him to click on that Pokeball, to deposit her body onto the ground. I don't want to see the violet wisps, the black slime, the bite mark haunting my sleep.

"Then why are you here?"

Kurt places the capsule in my hand, then points to a shovel propped against the fence. I scoop a small hole out of the muddy soil as rain pools inside. Water splashes on my shoes when the Pokeball's dropped inside, and I cover it.

"What now?" I ask.

"Whatever you want."

I stare at the mound and kneel.

She never listened. She ate our dreams, stirred fights among the team, and laid a Curse on every Pokemon that opposed her. She intended to kill that Zubat, no different than the Ekans that succeeded in killing her, and it's what all of their trainers, me included, ordered. Had it been the other way around, that snake's trainer wouldn't be holding a makeshift funeral. It's foolish to care, to mourn the death of a terror.

So why do I feel a wound, cutting inside? Like a knife's been buried within my body but I can't find where, because everything's numb.

It's rained for a week. I barely feel it anymore.

A small hand tugs at my elbow. Maizie's brought two cups of tea, one for me and one for her grandfather. As she lifts my backpack off my shoulders and skips with it, back into the house, I cradle the warmth in my palms, against my chest, soaking it in before I raise the liquid to my lips and allow the heat inside. When the steam seeps through me, I can feel my heart unthaw. I can feel the pain, the gash, the wedged knife.

I can feel it hurt, now, but I don't sob.

"It's my fault," Kurt says, kneeling on my left. "For dragging you into my schemes."

"Azalea's a lot better off now. It was a necessary sacrifice."

"Here." He holds out a handkerchief, and I decline. "Use it to wipe away your tears."

"It's just the rain," I say, and I'm telling the truth. "It's not worth crying over. Fights like that are what Pokemon are for. Otherwise…"

"Otherwise?"

"Otherwise they're loose in the wild, and we're the ones worried about getting harmed."

Neither of us speak as we drink from our cups. I drink until the final sip tastes more like storm clouds than tea, and all of it's gone.

"This rain is a blessing from the wild Slowpoke," Kurt says, choosing each word with deliberation. "And the Farfetch'd cutting trees are companions of Azalea's citizens, naturally raised. They weren't captured by Pokeballs."

"Maybe there are exceptions, but even still, Azalea has a gym. With trainers and trained Pokemon, to guard against what's lurking in the forests, the mountains, the outside world. Trainers that suck the town dry—trainers that don't notice the Rocket operation directly below them causing a drought. It all traces back to Pokemon."

"It's a valuable lesson my successor learned, to not detach himself from the town. Bugsy means well and won't let his guard down in the future. But what you say is true." Kurt frowns, peering at me. "If this is how you feel, why did you come here to bury your Gastly?"

I glance at the lump of mud sinking back into the ground. "I just felt it was the right thing to do. That's all."

"You don't like to open up, do you?" Lately, I've been hearing that a lot. I don't respond, watching as Kurt moves from my mound to the other.

"I've lost many Pokemon over my long career," he says. "As a trainer, a League agent, and a gym leader. Like every other battler, I always abandoned the corpses where they died. Moved on, added something new, and treated them like tools. Sacrifices, as you said."

His eyes search the yard for a moment, but there's no one around except the two of us. "My last deed, before retirement, was putting down a rogue trainer. I don't know why, but one night he murdered several townsfolk. The house where I killed him, the parents died but their daughter, Maizie, survived. There was a Slowpoke wrapped around her body, protecting her. A family pet, but I never found its Pokeball.

"That was the first Pokemon I buried."

He kneels at the grave and clasps his hands together.

"There were scorch marks across the Slowpoke's skin, from a Psychic attack. And in that fight, my enemy and I both used an Alakazam. I've trained my Pokemon well, to keep their attacks directed and under control, but sometimes I wonder."

Kurt turns his head and tries to look directly into my eyes. My hair has tangled in front of my face, but I don't brush it away. "So I can tell, the way you buried your Gastly, that a question's unresolved."

The rain is pouring now. Its chilling touch trickles across my skin, numbing.

"My Gastly," I say. "She, Nina—" I clutch my chest and the knife rips out and everything bursts like a flood breaching a dam. "—Nina kept eating dreams, and I couldn't change her diet and I couldn't control her. So I kept her inside a Pokeball and stopped training her to avoid trouble."

Pain and warmth spill through my body. "So she wasn't ready to battle in Slowpoke Well. She was reckless and untrained and beyond my control. And I had—I have this Wooper who fought her because of that, because I never fixed the problem. Otherwise they could have fought together, protected each other. I blamed my Chikorita for not controlling the situation when it first broke out, and I blamed her poor leadership as an excuse to not train the others, but it's my fault. I'm the reason Nina died; I'm the reason why she wasn't trained. Not the Ekans, not Isadora, and certainly not Belle."

"I see."

No advice or perspective, no solace or comfort. Two words of acknowledgment and nothing else. But Kurt waits with me as I kneel in the rain, and the guilt and regret and heat surge through me. Gradually, they dampen, the wound closing into a scar.

I ask, "When you buried that Slowpoke and mourned, did your Pokemon participate?"

"None of them knew the Slowpoke," Kurt says. "So it was just me and Maizie. Your situation differs from mine."

My palms cup Belle's Pokeball, then set it to the ground. My mind blanks. I can't find an answer, because I don't know what to ask.

An eternity stretches without a decision, until Maizie comes out of the house. "Your backpack's moving on its own!" she yells, waving her arms at me.

When I enter, it's squirming on the table. I unzip it to discover that it's the egg that's shaking. The top of the shell begins to crack, and seconds later a head smashes through. Four tiny limbs break free from the surface. A spiky, crown-like blob stares at me with a grin on its face.

The Togepi bounces in my hands, pulsing with joy on every jump.

"What is that, exactly?" Kurt asks from behind me, clutching his forehead.

"It's difficult to explain," I say.

"Why don't you stay for dinner?"

I nod, telling him what I know as he walks to the kitchen. When dinner's ready we eat on the floor, and afterward, I watch Maizie play with the Togepi, introducing her new friend to her Slowpoke. She asks if I have other Pokemon who want to join. It's like Belle's back in New Bark Town, when she leaps alongside Maizie with squeaks and smiles. We stay for a few hours, until the rain dies down.


End file.
